And now with morning’s dewy light,
Earth, air, and heaven again are bright,
And nature, waking from the night,
In freshest beauty glows.
Ulric went forth his stroll to take,
To mark the silent morning break,
The garden's sweetness to inhale,
Where mingled, on the balmy gale,
The lilac and the rose.
But not he went to taste alone
The fragrance of the opening dawn,
Or mark the dew-drops on the lawn,
The lilac's luscious scent.
Less pleasing thoughts his mind employ,
Disturb his peace, and chase his joy.
Of Steinfort, ere he left his room,
With saucy air, the flippant groom,
Brought message insolent:
"Thy uncle, from the hunt to-day,
Bids thee, at home, my lord, to stay,"
And smiling, then did turn away,
Already now their horses' feet,
In the far distance faint retreat.
"Strange message! and with meaning fraught—
To something points; I know not what.
But, with my uncle, by the rood!
Steinfort's hunt bodes me little good.
Well! let him hunt, and let him plot!
I trust in Heaven, and heed him not."
And, musing thus, he hears the sound
Of a light footstep on the ground.
And Loulou stood—the gentle maid,
With beating heart, and half afraid—
An artless girl and sweet.
Too artless and too sweet, also,
For her own peace, as she may know,
Ere long, and now she sought to throw
Herself at Ulric's feet.
"Oh, my good lord!—this lonely spot—
Heaven grants the interview I sought!"
"Well, pretty Loulou, well!"
"A dreadful tale—I overheard
Last night—this morning—in a word,
I scarce know how to tell!"
Count Ulric, with caressing hand,
Smoothed her soft hair, and bade her stand,
Compose her pale disorder, and
Say all as it befell.
And thought that in his life be ne'er
Had seen so graceful maid and fair.
"A tale of horror, dark to hear,
Pours Steinfort in thy uncle’s ear;
Thy spotless name he blights by stealth,
Incensed that of his future wealth
Thou hast an equal part.
Against thee, witnesses bath brought,
And now a fearful change hath wrought
Within thy uncle's heart,
Who thinks that, yesterday, in strife,
Thou basely sought Count Steinfort's life;
And, quickly conquered, owest thy own
To Steinfort's pitying hand alone!
And so the groom, by gold won o'er,
Brought to thy uncle's presence, swore.
'And if?' cried Steinfort, 'thus for me,
Lies wait his foul duplicity;
If thus he stake his life for mine,
Dear uncle, who can answer thine?
Who can his dark design control?
For thee, death lurks in every bowl!'
"Tongue cannot tell how each false word
Thy uncle's jealous bosom stirred;
His cheeks first pale, then red appear—
With fury now, and now with fear.
At length he vowed, this night, to tear
The testament where thou art heir;
Thus far I heard—nor longer stayed,
But spoke—though but an humble maid,
Aloud I spoke, and boldly said;
'The fight had Steinfort's self begun,
By Mahmoud's death—by thee 'twas won,
Who ne'er didst seek his treacherous life,
But gave it, victor, in the strife.
With my own eyes I saw the deed,
And false was all the Count had said.'
Again, oh! may I never see
That dreadful look he cast on me.
And ere another hour had passed,
A message came—I was outcast!
I and my mother, from the door
Were thrust, and bid return no more.
For thee, to-day, they hunt—this night
The scribe another will must write.
To-morrow thou, alas, wilt be
Sent forth in shame and penury—
Thy uncle's face no more to see;
Thy only trust in pitying Heaven—
Thy fortune all to Steinfort given.
Farewell! farewell! my tale is told;
Nay, good my lord—I seek not gold."
"What seek'st thou then? What can I do,
To pay thy friendship, sweet Loulou?"
"I ask, my lord, no other pay—
I saw—I heard thee yesterday—
The words to Mahmoud thou didst say!
That every servant—every friend—
Did only to thy fortune bend—"
"But tell me, Loulou, tell me why,
To me, this ardent sympathy?
Thy ruin stares thee in the face—
Why, in thy thought, finds mine such place?
"Oh first, my lord, because the right
Is on thy side, all proof despite.
And then because, Count Steinfort here,
Inspires distrust and chilling fear.
And then because—because—that thou"—
She paused—when o'er her cheek and brow,
He marked the soft suffusion flow,
Her downcast eyes her quickening breath—
Her blush, now faded pale as death—
Her modest kerchief's heaving fold
The farther secret amply told.
And well, in sooth, did Ulric need
The voice, before, his virtue's meed.
And what that voice did clearly say,
Well did he hear, and well obey.
"Ulric, behold s simple maid,
By guileless heart to love betrayed,
Whose artless nature turns to thee,—
Sole master of her destiny!
Oh, haste thee to the dewy rose,
That in the earliest morning blows,
And soil its leaves, and rudely tear,
And cast its fragments on the air.
Go to the cool, transparent tide,
That bubbles from the mountain side,
Where pilgrims drink, and there by night
Pour poison in its waves of light.
On grassy mead, where children play,
In life's delightful holiday,
Go loosen, ere the morn awake,
Mid clustering flowers, the deadly snake;
Or where, behind the dungeon's grate,
The pallid prisoner meets his fate,
Despairing pines or starving dies—
Go, goad and mock his miseries.
Do these—aye more, and hopeful live;
Man may forget, or God forgive!
But if thou dare the first instil
Into pure heart, the thought of ill,
Scorning God's clear, tremendous will,
And, from her flight to heaven's throne,
Draw one young struggling angel down—
Light may'st thou laugh, and careless live—
Thou hast stern reckoning yet to give,
When, quenched, at last, thy tainted breath,
Thou stand'st alone with God and Death."
Through Ulric's heart flew every word.
He knew not if he thought or heard.
"Loulou! I thank thee! fancy not
Thy generous bearing e'er forgot.
From Steinfort, heaven my fate will shield;
And not so light we soldiers yield.
Or if, by wicked arts undone,
I wander, outcast and alone,
Think not my hope and courage gone.
I reck—not I—the lowering blow—
My way to carve I well shall know.
But thou, young girl, whose generous love
By thy own ruin thou dost prove,
Thy strongest purpose well must be,
Thy native vale again to see.
Where, by thy grandsire's hamlet side,
Plows peaceful on the Oder's tide.
Back thou shalt go, with prayer of mine,
May ever flow as gently thine!
Thy feeble grandsire's trembling age
No more must lose so sweet a page.
Go! Loulou go! I love, in thee,
Thy innocence, thy purity.
A halo bright, by angels given.
Keep it—it lights thy steps to heaven.
If e'er thy simple wants require—
I am thy brother—or thy sire.
And here my purse—with doubly o'er
All that thy need requires and more.
Nay, not a word—thou will not choose
My last and earnest wish refuse.
Thy mother may its contents use.
Sweet girl! farewell! and if, again,
Poor Mahmoud heard my musing strain,
I would not tell that every friend
Did only to my fortune bend.
Such error should be frank confest.
Fidelity and truth, 'twere best
To seek in Loulou's artless breast."
She went, nor raised her timid eye.
One moment Ulric's heart beat high,
And heaved the soft, reluctant sigh.
But then, from every weakness free,
Regained all virtue's liberty.
"And thus the eagle, when he flies,
Where meadows spread and forests rise,
Beholds the hunter aim below,
And in his bosom dreads the blow;
But turning, in triumphant flight,
Ascends once more his realm of light;
On balanced wing floats, calm and even,
Unruffled in the azure heaven."
These words of spiritual pride,
Through Ulric's mind did subtly glide,
Breathed by the shadow at his side,
Who smiled to marked his pow'r defied,
And thus with ominous hate, inaudible, replied:
"Aye! aye! the eagle, when he flies,
Where meadows spread and forests rise,
Beholds the hunter aim below,
And proudly soars above the blow;
Ascends, ha! ha! with loftier flight,
His boasted realms of azure light;
And floats, on balanced wing and even
Earth scorning in the heights of heaven.
But, at the last, his wing shall tire,
Relax his nerve—and cool his fire,
And seek repose, his wearied breast,
On earth-bound cliff where hangs his nest.
The deadly hunter, following there,
Tracks him through all the fields of air;
No food shall taste—or slumber know,
Till at his feet th' aspiring foe
Lies humbled in the dust, and low.
Chains those heav'n-cleaving pinions bind.
With tangled plume, in cage confined,
He sits—the gaze—the laughter of mankind!"