Part 6 (1/2)

And, O heaven for strength! And my mother!--Thy hand Too is cold, and discoloured with death's pallid brand; And thine eye, which had beamed with thy love as thou smiled, Is fixed on the welkin both wanly and wild.

And hushed are the tones of that motherly voice, In whose kind commendation I used to rejoice.

Alas! I am lonely without thee to cheer; Do thou, gentle Mother of Jesus, be near!

I am fatherless, motherless--Ronald!--my G.o.d!-- Thy sepulchre too is the snow-covered sod!

My Ronald, my hero, the king of my heart!

O Christ, Thou hast power, do Thou life re-impart!

The sisters of old were made glad at Thy will, But my lover lies breathless and motionless still.

Can naught else restore warmth to the frame of the dead?

Not my pa.s.sion's embrace, nor the hot tears I shed?

But, alas! my Narcissus is lifeless at length, For ever laid low his Herculean strength, And that manly bosom, that throbbed with the sway Of a heart true and n.o.ble, is silent for aye.

Yet he looks like a prince, as he lies in repose On his marble-white tomb, and o'er-wreathed with snows.

The snow too is thy shroud, and thy funeral chant Is the wail of a maiden lamenting thy want.

O Ronald, so generous, n.o.ble, and true, How unworthy thy loved one! how deeply I rue My pride, my caprice, and the preference shown-- But now thou art dead, and the d.a.m.ned one is flown.

How deeply he loved! and how zealously wooed!

My G.o.d! 'tis beside where our cottage late stood!

He could have escaped, but alone would not fly, And--aha!--for my safety, for me did he die.

Aha! aha! the maiden cried, Aha! aha! the rocks replied; 'Twas carried weird upon the wind, And wildly woke the hills behind; It smote the birds upon the wing, They fled afar, and ceased to sing; It pierced my heart that still its blight It bears upon it day and night; Still when the eventime is nigh I hear the maiden's withering cry, And see her spectral shadow by, Which stays and haunts my restless dreams, Disturbed by those heart-rending screams.

Aha! she cried, and down the glen She madly took her way again.

Through shadowy vale, o'er s.h.a.ggy hill Young Janet wanders frantic still, Watched and sustained from year to year By pity of the mountaineer, Who knows the story of her woe, And curses deep her kindred's foe; And on from year to year the same She wildly calls on Ronald's name.

A Parody

Once upon a midnight dreary, as I sauntered weak and weary From a jovial fellow-student's room upon another floor; As I sauntered, sadder, sicker, suddenly I heard a snicker, And the lights began to flicker, and right out went three or four.

”Some infernal trick!” I muttered, as I neared my chamber door; ”I won't stand this any more.”

Ah! distinctly I remember, it was in my first September, And each night-attired member fled like ghost upon the floor.

Lamp I vainly sought to borrow, though I threatened on the morrow They would catch it to their sorrow, they would catch it sad and sore-- I would have them on the morrow the dread Faculty before-- Fearful here for evermore.