Poems from The Romance of the Forest(1791)
FROM THE ROMANCE
OF THE FOREST
3 VOLS. (LONDON, 1791).
Note: this
novel is still anonymous, though "By the authoress of 'A Sicilian
Romance,' &c." Also, this is the first novel to have epigrams, and
they are, like in the later romances, by Walpole, Gray, Shakespeare, etc.
The
Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:85-7: "She was a sensible
and highly accomplished woman, and it became her cheif delight to form the
rising graces of Adeline, who had, as has been already shown, a sweetness of
disposition, which made her quick to repay instruction with improvement, and
indulgence with love. Never was Adeline so pleased as when she anticipated her
wishes, and never so diligent as when she was employed in her business. The
little affairs of the houshold she overlooded and managed with such admirable
exactness, that Madame La Motte had neither anxiety, nor care, concerning them.
And Adeline formed for herself in this barren situation, many amusements, that
occasionally banished the remembrance of her misfortunes. La Motte's books were
her chief consolation. With one of these she would frequently ramble in the
forest, [PAGE 86] where the river, winding through a glade, diffused coolness,
and with its murmuring accents, invited repose: there she would seat herself, and,
resigned to the illusions of the page, pass many hours in oblivion of sorrow.
Her too, when her mind was tranquilized by the surrounding scenery, she wooed
the gentle muse, and indulged in ideal happiness. The delight of these moments
she commemorated in the following address
TO THE VISIONS OF FANCY.
Dear, wild illusions of creative mind!
Whose varying hues arise to
Fancy's art,
And by her magic force are swift combin'd
In forms that please, and scenes
that touch the heart:
Oh! whether at her voice ye soft assume
The pensive grace of sorrow
drooping low;
Or rise sublime on terror's lofty plume,
And shake the soul with wildly
thrilling woe;
Or, sweetly bright, your gayer tints ye spread,
Bid scenes of pleasure steal
upon my view,
Love wave his purple pinions o'er my head,
And wake the tender thought to
passion true;
[PAGE 87]
O! still--ye shadowy forms! attend my lonely hours,
Still chase my real cares with your illusive powers!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:188-9: "She wandered
on without noticing the distance, and, following the windings of the river,
came to a dewy glade, whose woods, sweeping down to the very edge of the water,
formed a scene so sweetly romantic, that she seated herself at the foot of a
tree, to contemplate its beauty. These images insensibly soothed her sorrow,
and inspired her with that soft and pleasing melancholy, so dear to the feeling
mind. For some time she sat lost in a reverie, while the flowers that grew on the
banks beside her seemed to smile in new life, and drew from her a comparison
with her own condition. She mused and sighed, and then, in a voice, whose
charming melody was modulated by the tenderness of her heart, she sung the
following words:
[PAGE 189]
SONNET, TO THE LILLY.
Soft silken flow'r! that in the dewy vale
Unfolds thy modest beauties to
the morn,
And breath'st thy fragrance on her wand'ring gale,
O'er earth's green hills and
shadowy vallies born;
When day has closed his dazzling eye,
And dying gales sink soft away;
When Eve steals down the western sky,
And mountains, woods, and vales
decay;
Thy tender cups, that graceful swell,
Droop sad beneath her chilly
dews;
Thy odours seek their silken cell,
And twilight veils thy languid
hues.
But soon, fair flow'r! the morn shall rise,
And rear again thy pensive
head;
Again unveil thy snowy dyes,
Again thy velvet foliage
spread.
Sweet child of Spring! like thee in sorrow's shade,
Full oft I mourn in tears, and
droop forlorn:
And O! like thine, may light my gloom pervade,
And Sorrow fly before Joy's
living morn!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 1:206-208: "At the
decline of day, she quitted her chamber to enjoy the sweet evening hour, but
strayed no farther than an avenue [PAGE 207] near the abbey, which fronted the
west. She read a little, but, finding it impossible any longer to abstract her
attention from the scene around, she closed the book, and yielded to the sweet
complacent melancholy which the hour inspired. The air was still, the sun,
sinking below the distant hill, spread a purple glow over the landscape, and
touched the forest glades with softer light. A dewy freshness was diffused upon
the air. As the sun descended, the dusk came silently on, and the scene assumed
a solemn grandeur. As she mused, she recollected and repeated the following
stanzas:
NIGHT.
Now Ev'ning fades! her pensive step retires,
And Night leads on the dews,
and shadowy hours:
Her awful pomp of planetary fires,
And all her train of visionary
powers.
These paint with fleeting shapes the dream of sleep,
These swell the waking soul
with pleasing dread;
These through the glooms in forms terrific sweep,
And rouse the thrilling horrors
of the dead!
[PAGE 208]
Queen of the solemn thought---mysterious Night!
Whose step is darkness, and
whose voice is fear!
Thy shades I welcome with severe delight,
And hail thy hollow gales, that
sigh so drear!
When, wrapt in clouds, and riding in the blast,
Thou roll'st the storm along
the sounding shore,
I love to watch the whelming billows, cast
On rocks below, and listen to
the roar.
Thy milder terrors, Night, I frequent woo,
Thy silent lightnings, and thy
meteor's glare,
Thy northern fires, bright with ensanguine hue,
That light in heaven's high
vault the fervid air.
But chief I love thee, when thy lucid car
Sheds through the fleecy clouds
a trembling gleam,
And shews the misty mountain from afar,
The nearer forest, and the
valley's stream:
And nameless objects in the vale below,
That floating dimly to the
musing eye,
Assume, at Fancy's touch, fantastic shew,
And raise her sweet romantic
visions high.
Then let me stand amidst thy glooms profound
On some wild woody steep, and
hear the breeze
That swells in mournful melody around,
And faintly dies upon the
distant trees.
What melancholy charm steals o'er the mind!
What hallow'd tears the rising
rapture greet!
While many a viewless spirit in the wind
Sighs to the lonely hour in
accents sweet!
[PAGE 209]
Ah! who the dear illusions pleas'd would yield,
Which Fancy wakes from silence
and from shades,
For all the sober forms of Truth reveal'd,
For all the scenes that Day's
bright eye pervades!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 2:118-9: "Again the
music sounded--'music such as charmeth sleep'--and again she gradually yielded
to its sweet magic. A female voice, accompanied by a lute, a hautboy, and a few
other instruments, now gradually swelled into a tone so exquisite, as raised
attention into ecstacy. It sunk by degrees, and touched a few simple notes with
pathetic softness, when the measure was suddenly changed, and in a gay and airy
melody Adeline distinguished the following words:
[PAGE 120]
SONG.
Life's a varied, bright illusion,
Joy and sorrow---light and
shade;
Turn from sorrow's dark suffusion,
Catch the pleasures ere they
fade.
Fancy paints with hues unreal,
Smile of bliss, and sorrow's
mood;
If they both are but ideal,
Why reject the seeming good?
Hence! no more! 'tis Wisdom calls ye,
Bids ye court Time's present
aid;
The future trust not---Hope enthrals ye,
'Catch the pleasures ere they
fade.'"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 2:128-131: "And now the
Marquis, who interpreted her silence into a secret compliance with his
proposal, resumed all his gaiety and spirit, while the long and ardent regards
he bestowed on Adeline, overcame her with confusion and indignation. In the
midst of the banquet, soft music again sounded the most tender and impassioned
airs; but its effect [PAGE 129] on Adeline was now lost, her mind being too
much embarrassed and distressed by the presence of the Marquis, to admit even
the soothings of harmony. A song was now heard, written with that sort of
impotent art, by which some voluptuous poets believe they can at once conceal
and recommend the principles of vice. Adeline received it with contempt and
displeasure, and the Marquis, perceiving its effect, presently made a sign for
another composition, which, adding the force of poetry to the charms of music,
might withdraw her mind from the present scene, and enchant it in sweet
delirium.
SONG OF A SPIRIT.
In the sightless air I dwell,
On the sloping sun-beams play;
Delve the cavern's inmost cell,
Where never yet did day-light
stray.
[PAGE 130]
Dive beneath the green-sea waves,
And gambol in the briny deeps;
Skim every shore that Neptune laves,
From Lapland's plains to
India's steeps.
Oft I mount with rapid force
Above the wide earth's shadowy
zone;
Follow the day-star's flaming course
Through realms of space to
thought unknown;
And listen to celestial sounds,
That swell the air, unheard of
men,
As I watch my nightly rounds
O'er woody steep, and silent glen.
Under the shade of waving trees.
On the green bank of fountain
clear,
At pensive eve I sit at ease,
While dying music murmurs near.
And oft, on point of airy clift,
That hangs upon the western
main,
I watch the gay tints passing swift,
And twilight veil the liquid
plain.
Then, when the breeze has sunk away,
And ocean scarce is heard to
lave,
For me the sea-nymphs softly play
Their dulcet shells beneath the
wave.
Their dulcet shells! I hear them now;
Slow swells the strain upon
mine ear;
Now faintly falls---now warbles low,
'Till rapture melts into a
tear.
[PAGE 131]
The ray that silvers o'er the dew,
And trembles through the leafy
shade,
And tints the scene with softer hue,
Calls me to rove the lonely
glade;
Or hie me to some ruin'd tow'r,
Faintly shewn by moon-light
gleam,
Where the lone wand'rer owns my pow'r
In shadows dire that substance
seem;
In thrilling sounds that murmur woe,
And pausing silence makes more
dread;
In music breathing from below
Sad, solemn Strains, that wake
the dead.
Unseen I move---unknown am fear'd!
Fancy's wildest dreams I weave;
And oft by bards my voice is heard
To die along the gales of
eve."
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:32-33: "She awoke
with the dawn, and her [PAGE 33] mind being too much disturbed to sleep again,
she rose and watched the gradual approach of day. As she mused, she expressed
the feelings of the moment in the following,
SONNET.
Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,
And wake the blushes of the rose,
That all night long oppress'd with dews,
And veil'd in chilly shade its hues,
Reclin'd, forlorn, the languid head,
And sadly sought its parent bed;
Warmth from her ray the trembling flow'r derives,
And, sweetly blushing, through its tears revives.
"Morn's beaming eyes at length unclose,"
And melt the tears that bend the rose;
But can their charms suppress the sigh,
Or chace the tear from Sorrow's eye?
Can all their lustrous light impart
One ray of peace to sorrow's heart?
Ah! no; their fires her fainting soul oppress---
Eve's pensive shades more soothe her meek distress!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:97-98: "As she
listened to the mellow and enchanting tones of the horn, which gradually sunk
away in distance, the scene appeared more lovely than before, and finding it
impossible to forbear attempting to paint in language what was so beautiful in
reality, she composed the following
STANZAS.
How smooth that lake expands its ample breast!
Where smiles in soften'd glow
the summer sky:
How vast the rocks that o'er its surface rest!
How wild the scenes its winding
shores supply!
Now down the western steep slow sinks the sun,
And paints with yellow gleam
the tufted woods:
While here the mountain-shadows, broad and dun,
Sweep o'er the crystal mirror
of the floods.
[PAGE 98]
Mark how his splendour tips with partial light
Those shatter'd battlements!
that on the brow
Of yon bold promontory burst to sight
From o'er the woods that darkly
spread below.
In the soft blush of light's reflected power,
The ridgy rock, the woods that
crown its steep,
Th' illumin'd battlement, and darker tower,
On the smooth wave in trembling
beauty sleep.
But lo! the sun recalls his fervid ray,
And cold and dim, the wat'ry
visions fail;
While o'er yon cliff, whose pointed craggs decay,
Mild Evening draws her thin
empurpled veil!
How sweet that strain of melancholy horn!
That floats along the slowly
ebbing wave;
And up the far-receding mountains borne,
Returns a dying close from
Echo's cave!
Hail! shadowy forms of still, expressive Eve!
Your pensive graces stealing on
my heart,
Bid all the fine-attun'd emotions live,
And fancy all her loveliest
dreams impart."
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:144-6: "They sat down
on a point of rock, overshadowed by lofty palm-trees, to contemplate at leisure
the magnificent scene. The sun was just emerged from the sea, over which his
rays shed a flood of light, and darted a thousand brilliant tints on the
vapours that ascended the horizon, and floated there in light clouds, leaving
the bosom of the waters below clear as chrystal, except where the white surges
[PAGE 145] were seen to bear upon the rocks; and discovering the distant sails
of the fishing boats, and the far distant highlands of Corsica, tinted with
aetherial blue. Clara, after some time, drew forth her pencil, but threw it
aside in despair. Adeline, as they returned home through a romantic glen, when
her senses were no longer absorbed in the contemplation of this grand scenery,
and when its images floated on her memory, only, in softened colours, repeated
the following lines:
SUNRISE: A SONNET.
Oft let me wander, at the break of day,
Thro' the cool vale o'erhung
with waving woods,
Drink the rich fragrance of the budding May,
And catch the murmur of the
distant floods;
Or rest on the fresh bank of limpid rill,
Where sleeps the vi'let in the
dewy shade,
Where op'ning lilies balmy sweets distil,
And the wild musk-rose weeps
along the glade:
[PAGE 146]
Or climb the eastern cliff, whose airy head
Hangs rudely o'er the blue and
misty main;
Watch the fine hues of morn through ¾ther spead,
And paint with roseate glow the
crystal plain.
Oh! who can speak the rapture of the soul
When o'er the waves the sun
first steals to sight,
And all the world of waters, as they roll,
And Heaven's vast vault unveils
in living light!
So life's young hour to man enchanting smiles,
With sparkling health, and joy, and fancy's fairy wiles!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:150-3: "One evening
Adeline having excused herself from accompanying La Luc and Clara in a visit to
a neighbouring family, she retired to the terrace of the garden, which
overlooked the sea, and as she viewed the tranquil splendour of the setting
sun, and his glories reflected on the polished surface of the waves, she
touched the strings of the lute in softest harmony, her voice accompanying it
with words which she had one day written after having read that rich effusion
of Shakespeare's genius, 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.'
TITANIA TO HER LOVE.
O! fly with me through distant air
To isles that gem the western
deep!
For laughing Summer revels there,
And hangs her wreath on every
steep.
As through the green transparent sea
Light floating on the waves we
go,
The nymphs shall gaily welcome me,
Far in their coral caves below.
[PAGE 151]
For oft upon their margin sands,
When twilight leads the
fresh'ning hours,
I come with all my jocund bands
To charm them from their
sea-green bow'rs.
And well they love our sports to view,
And on the Ocean's breast to
lave;
And oft as we the dance renew,
They call up music from the
wave.
Swift hie we to that splendid clime,
Where gay Jamaica spreads her
scene,
Lifts the blue mountain---wild---sublime!
And smooths her vales of vivid
green.
Where throned high, in pomp of shade,
The Power of Vegetation reigns,
Expanding wide, o'er hill and glade,
Shrubs of all growth---fruit of
all stains:
She steals the sun-beam's fervid glow,
To paint her flow'rs of
mingling hue;
And o'er the grape the purple throw,
Breaking from verdant leaves to
view.
There myrtle bow'rs, and citron grove,
O'ercanopy our airy dance;
And there the sea-breeze loves to rove,
When trembles day's departing
glance.
[PAGE 152]
And when the false moon steals away,
Or o'er the chasing morn doth
rise,
Oft, fearless, we our gambols play
By the fire-worm's radiant
eyes.
And suck the honey'd reeds that swell
In tufted plumes of silver
white;
Or pierce the cocoa's milky cell,
To sip the nectar of delight!
And when the shaking thunders roll,
And light'nings strike athwart
the gloom,
We shelter in the cedar's bole,
And revel 'mid the rich
perfume!
[Page 28]
But chief we love beneath the palm,
Or verdant plantain's spreading
leaf,
To hear, upon the midnight calm,
Sweet Philomela pour her grief.
To mortal sprite such dulcet sound,
Such blissful hours, were never
known!
O fly with me my airy round,
And I will make them all thine
own!
Adeline ceased
to sing--when she immediately heard repeated in a low voice,
'To mortal sprite such
dulcet sound,
'Such blissful hours,
were never known!'
[PAGE 153]
and
turning her eyes whence it came, she saw M. Amand. She blushed and laid down
the lute, which he instantly took up, and with a tremulous hand drew forth
tones
'That might create a
soul under the ribs of Death.'
In a
melodious voice, that trembled with sensibility, he sang the following
SONNET.
How-sweet is Love's first gentle sway,
When crown'd with flow'rs he
softly smiles!
His blue eyes fraught with
tearful wiles,
Where beams of tender transport play:
Hope leads him on his airy way,
And Faith and Fancy still
beguiles---
Faith quickly tangled in her
toils---
Fancy, whose magic forms so gay
The fair Deceiver's self
deceive---
'How sweet is Love's first gentle sway!'
Ne'er would that heart he bids
to grieve
From Sorrow's soft enchantments stray---
Ne'er---till the God exulting in his art,
Relentless frowns and wings th' envenom'd dart."
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:159-62: "She usually
rose early, and walked down to the shore to enjoy, in the cool and silent hours
of the morning, the cheering beauty of nature, and inhale the pure sea-breeze.
Every object then smiled in fresh and lively colours. The blue ea, the
brilliant sky, the distant fishing boats, with their white sails, and the
voices of the fishermen borne at intervals on the air, were circumstances which
re-animated her spirits, and in one of her rambles, yielding to that taste for
poetry which had seldom forsaken her, she repeated the following lines:
[PAGE 160]
MORNING, ON THE SEA SHORE.
What print of fairy feet is
here
On Neptune's smooth and yellow sands?
What midnight revel's airy
dance,
Beneath the moon-beam's
trembling glance
Has blest these shores?---What sprightly bands
Have chac'd the waves
uncheck'd by fear?
Whoe'er they were they fled from morn,
For now, all silent and forlorn,
These tide-forsaken sands appear---
Return, sweet sprites! the scene to cheer!
In vain the call!---'Till moonlight's hour
Again diffuse its softer pow'r,
Titania, nor her fairy loves,
Emerge from India's spicy groves.
Then, when the shad'wy hour
returns,
When silence reigns o'er air and earth,
And ev'ry star in ¾ther burns,
They come to celebrate their mirth;
In frolic ring light trip the
ground,
Bid Music's voice on Silence win,
'Till magic echoes answer
round---
Thus do their festive rites begin.
[PAGE 161]
O fairy forms so coy to mortal ken,
Your mystic steps to poets only
shewn;
O! lead me to the brook, or hollow'd glen,
Retiring far, with winding
woods o'ergrown!
Where'er ye best delight to
rule;
If in some forest's lone retreat,
Thither conduct my willing feet
To the light brink of
fountain cool,
Where, sleeping in the midnight
dew,
Lie Spring's young buds of
ev'ry hue,
Yielding their sweet breath
to the air;
To fold their silken leaves
from harm,
And their chill heads in
moonshine warm,
Is bright Titania's tender
care.
There, to the night-birds's plaintive chaunt
Your carols sweet ye love to
raise,
With oaten reed and past'ral
lays;
And guard with forceful spell her haunt,
Who, when your antic sports are
done,
Oft lulls ye in the lily's cell,
Sweet flow'r! that suits your slumbers well,
And shields ye from the rising
sun.
When not to India's steeps ye fly
After twilight and the moon,
In honey buds ye love to lie,
While reigns supreme Light's
fervid noon;
Nor quit the cell where peace pervades.
'Till night leads on the dews and shades.
[PAGE 162]
E'en now your scenes enchanted meet my sight!
I see the earth unclose, the
palace rise,
The high dome swell, and long arcades of light
Glitter among the deep
embow'ring woods,
And glance reflecting from the
trembling floods!
While to soft lutes the portals wide unfold,
And fairy forms, of fine
¾therial dyes,
Advance with frolic step and
laughing eyes,
Their hair with pearl, their garments deck'd with gold;
Pearls that in Neptune's briny waves they sought,
And gold from India's deepest caverns brought.
Thus your light visions to my eyes unveil,
Ye sportive pleasures, sweet illusion, hail!
But ah! at morn's first blush
again ye fade!
So from youth's ardent gaze life's landscape gay,
And forms in Fancy's summer
hues array'd,
Dissolve at once in air at Truth's resplendent day!
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:171-2: "The sun, at
length, sunk below the ocean, and twilight stole over the scene, leaving the
shadowy shores yet visible, and touching with a solemn tint the waters that
stretched wide around. She sketched the picture, but it was with a faint pencil.
NIGHT.
O'er the dim breast of Ocean's
wave
Night spreads afar her
gloomy wings,
And pensive thought, and
silence brings,
Save when the distant waters
lave.
Or when the mariner's
lone voice
Swells faintly in the passing
gale,
Or when the screaming
sea-gulls poise
O'er the tall mast and
swelling sail,
[PAGE 172]
Bounding the grey gleam
of the deep,
Where fancy'd forms arouse
the mind,
Dark sweep the shores, on
whose rude steep
Sighs the sad spirit of the
wind.
Sweet is its voice upon the air
At ev'ning's melancholy
close,
When the smooth wave in
silence flows!
Sweet, sweet the peace its
stealing accents bear!
Blest be thy shades, O Night! and blest the song
Thy low winds breathe the distant shores along!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:179-182: "When she
reached the summit, and looked down over the dark tops of the woods on the wide
and various prospect, she was seized with a kind of still rapture impossible to
be expressed, and stood unconscious of the flight of time, till the sun had
left the scene, and twilight threw its solemn shade upon the mountains. The sea
alone reflected the fading splendor of the West; its tranquil surface was
partially disturbed by the low wind that creap in tremulous lines along the
waters, when rising to the woods, it shivered their light leaves, and died
away. Adeline, resigning herself to the luxury of sweet and tender emotions,
repeated the following lines:
[PAGE 180]
SUNSET.
Soft o'er the mountain's purple brow
Meek Twilight draws her shadows
grey:
From tufted woods and vallies low,
Light's magic colours steal
away.
Yet still, amid the spreading gloom,
Resplendent glow the western
waves,
That roll o'er Neptune's coral
caves,
A zone of light on Ev'ning's dome.
On this lone summit let me
rest,
And view the forms to Fancy dear,
'Till on the Ocean's darken'd
breast
The stars of Ev'ning tremble clear;
Or the moon's pale orb appear,
Throwing her line of radiance
wide,
Far o'er the lightly-curling
tide,
That seems the yellow sands to
chide.
No sounds o'er silence now
prevail,
Save of the dying wave
below,
Or sailor's song borne on the
gale,
Or oar at distance striking
slow.
So sweet! so tranquil! may my ev'ning ray
Set to this world---and rise in future day!
[PAGE 181]
Adeline
quitted the heights, and followed a narrow path that wound to the beach below:
her mind was now particularly sensible of fine impressions, and the sweet notes
of the nightingale amid the stillness of the woods again awakened her
enthusiasm.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
Child of the melancholy
song!
O yet that tender strain
prolong!
Her lengthen'd shade when Ev'ning flings,
From mountain-cliffs, and
forests green,
And sailing slow on silent wings,
Along the glimm'ring West is
seen;
I love o'er pathless hills to stray,
Or trace the winding vale
remote,
And pause, sweet Bird! to hear thy lay,
While moon-beams on the thin
clouds float;
'Till o'er the Mountain's dewy head
Pale Midnight steals to wake the dead.
Far through the Heav'ns' aetherial blue,
Wafted on Spring's light airs
you come,
With blooms, and flow'rs, and genial dew,
From climes where Summer joys
to roam,
O! welcome to your long lost
home!
[PAGE 182]
'Child of the melancholy
song!'
Who lov'st the lonely
woodland-glade
To mourn, unseen, the boughs
among,
When Twilight spreads her
pensive shade,
Again thy dulcet voice I hail!
O! pour again the liquid
note
That dies upon the ev'ning
gale!
For Fancy loves the kindred
tone;
Her griefs the plaintive
accents own.
She loves to hear thy
music float
At solemn midnight's stillest
hour,
And think on friends for
ever lost,
On joys by disappointment
crost,
And weep anew Love's charmful
pow'r!
Then Memory wakes the magic
smile,
Th' impassion'd voice, the
melting eye,
That won't the trusting heart
beguile,
And wakes again the hopeless
sigh!
Her skill the glowing tints
revive
Of scenes that Time had bade
decay:
She bids the soften'd Passions
live---
The Passions urge again
their sway.
Yet o'er the long-regretted
scene,
Thy song the grace of sorrow
throws;
A melancholy charm serene,
More rare than all that
mirth bestows.
Then hail, sweet Bird! and hail thy pensive tear!
To Taste, to Fancy, and to Virtue dear!"
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:328-9: "The contrast
which memory drew of the past with the present, frequently drew tears of
tenderness and gratitude to their eyes, and the sweet smile which seemed
struggling to dispel from the countenance of Adeline those gems of sorrow,
penetrated the heart of Theodore, and brought to his recollection a little song
which in other circumstances he had formerly sung to her. He took up a lute
that lay on the table, and [PAGE 329] touching the dulcet chords, accompanied
it with the following words:
SONG.
The rose that weeps with morning dew,
And glitters in the sunny ray,
In tears of smiles resembles you,
When Love breaks Sorrow's cloud
away.
The dews that bend the blushing flow'r,
Enrich the scent---renew the glow;
So Love's sweet tears exalt his pow'r,
So bliss more brightly shines
by woe!
The Romance of the Forest, 3 vols. (London, 1791), 3:342-3: "Peter flew,
and while chair and tables were placing, Clara ran for her favourite lute, the
lute which had formerly afforded her such delight, and which Adeline had often
touched with a malancholy expression. Clara's light hand now ran over the
chords, and drew forth tones of tender sweetness, her voice acoompanying the
following
[PAGE 343]
AIR.
Now, at Moonlight's fairy hour,
When faintly gleams each dewy
steep,
And vale and Mountain, lake and bow'r,
In solitary grandeur sleep;
When slowly sinks the evening breeze,
That lulls the mind in pensive
care,
And Fancy loftier visions sees,
Bid Music wake the silent air.
Bid the merry, merry tabor sound,
And with the Fays of lawn or
glade,
In tripping circlet beat the ground,
Under the high trees' trembling
shade.
"Now, at Moonlight's fairy hour,"
Shall Music breathe her dulcet
voice,
And o'er the waves, with magic pow'r,
Call on Echo to rejoice.