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THE LORD OF LANORAIE

INTRODUCTION.

Table of Contents

’Twas night, but darkness had not thrown

Her sombre veil across the sky;

The harvest moon resplendent shone

High in the azure canopy;

When deep in pensive thought I strayed

Down by St. Lawrence’ placid tide,

Beneath the stately elms that made

Shadowy aisles on every side.

Scarce noted I the path that drew

My heedless steps, which way it led;

Far other land my spirit knew,

And soon the silvery scene had fled.

For now beneath the sunny beam

Of fair Italia’s clime I roved,

Discoursing lore of hill and stream,

Companioned by the one I loved.

Again we lingered in the vale

Till came the stars by twilight led,

And poured the ever tuneful tale,

By clustering vines o’ercanopied.

“Oh love! thou pleasing, anxious thrill,

Caught from a tone, a look, a sigh,

Or touch, more evanescent still,

When once thou art, thou canst not die.”

I murmured to the midnight air,

In reverie absorbed I ween,

And now a rustling movement near

Recalled my thoughts unto the scene.

Some fledgling of these silvan ways

My steps disturbed, conjecture ran,

I raised my head, my startled gaze

Fell on the figure of a man.

An agèd, venerable face

Turned unto me enquiring eyes;

So strangely met in time and place,

I could but pause in mute surprise.

Close to my steps he sat and leant

Upon a rock of granite grey,

Full in the light, each lineament

Was clear as in the beam of day.

Grey, dusky locks descending dressed

A forehead broad and features high;

A snowy beard flowed down his breast;

Mild were the glances of his eye.

A visage with a look benign

From all the toils of passion free,

And on it dwelt in every line

A graceful pleasing dignity.

His form, once large, was shrunk to half

That it had been in earlier day,

But shapely still, as hat and staff

Upon the rock beside him lay.

Abashed to view that reverend face,—

And truly ’twas a noble sight,—

I paid, at length, with awkward grace,

The salutation of the night.

“A lovely night indeed,” he said,

And musing glanced upon the flood,

And on the vault of blue o’erhead,

As if on these he loved to brood.

And still the fascination grew

The while he spoke and gazed around

Upon a scene so fair to view;

I stood as on enchanted ground.

“Your pardon, Sir, but may I know

By what kind chance,” continued he,

“This meeting is? pray you allow

An old man’s curiosity.

“For I have sat full many an hour,

Between the midnight and the dawn,

Upon this silent moonlit shore,

Nor oft have met the form of man.

“And now to greet a stranger here

At this lone hour may well excite

Surprise in one, long worshipper

And sole companion of the night.”

“A wakeful disposition, Sir,

Disturbed me as at eve I lay,

A traveller at the village there,

My resting place since yesterday.

“And I, despairing of repose,

And seeing that the night was clear,

And the moon beautiful, arose

To view the scene and wander here.”

I said, as jealously I thought

The secret of my heart to hide

And learn the history I sought;

But soon the pensive man replied.

“And yet, my friend, ’twere strange that you

Should wander in these paths alone

At midnight hour, if but to view

The brightness of the harvest moon.

“But trust my motive and confide

The burthen of your heart to me,

Whose bark has sailed life’s troubled tide

And must ere long at anchor be.

“Consider that some garnered thing

May be within my humble store

Of wisdom, from this voyaging,

To counsel you, if nothing more.

“ ’Twas grief oppressed you as you lay;

Some tender sorrow which you strove

To mitigate beneath the ray

Of this still night, some hapless love.”

“Good Sir, I thank you fervently,”

I said, “and ever must esteem

This kindness you devote to me;

Yet, truly, it was but a dream.”

“Nay, nay, my friend, let such be true;

To keep the vision from my sight

Were weak indeed; I promise you

We each have had a dream to-night.”

He urged in tones persuasively

Solicitous, nor longer I

Could hold my speech evasively;

Nor choice was left but to comply.

“It was a dream of Italy,

And in the spirit I was led

To scenes that erst were known to me,

And cities I had visited.

“At first but dimly seen, these grew

More bright as still I journeyed on,

Till one was with me whom I knew,

And yet I could not see that one.

“It was a presence felt as near,

Though all to me invisible,

As on the still and pallid air

We swept o’er valley, stream and hill.

“At length a rosy twilight spread

Around us in our silent flight,

And soon the sky was glowing red,

And hills were tipped with crimson light.

“As these we passed, the opening view

Disclosed a sunset, and its beam

Tinged a wide valley with its hue,

And the far winding of a stream.

“Familiar in my dream it lay,

A vale remembered but too well,

And cherished for the memory

Of one I loved as none may tell.

“I saw the paths we used to stray,

By meadow, slope and wooded hill,

As down the vale we held our way,

Myself and the invisible.

“And now a seat that we had shared

Beneath the vines, and now a tree

Where we had carved our names and dared

To vow to love eternally,

“Appeared, and I would fain have found

A voice my burning thought to speak,

But could not break the spell that bound

My lips, and I grew faint and weak.

“But now a voice was in my ear

That stirred me in the realm of sleep;

Her voice that I had loved to hear

Now drew my spirit from the deep.

“ ‘Oh stay! the night is very fair,

Stay yet awhile and walk with me,’

It said, and then upon the air

Her form appeared most vividly.

“In perfect feature and array

It bent above me while it threw,

Around the space wherein I lay,

The radiance of its snowy hue.

“And, gazing on me silently,

It moved and thrilled me with surprise,

For as it went it beckoned me

With tenderly beseeching eyes.

“ ‘Yes, yes,’ I cried, ‘I come! I come!’

And sprang to clasp it, but awoke,

As echo whispered in my room

The words that from my lips had broke.

“And raised upon my couch I stared,

Where late had shone the fervid gleam

Of the fair vision disappeared,

Scarce conscious all was but a dream.

“Now hope of further rest was vain,

And I arose to seek the air

And calm my fevered heart and brain,

Whose pulses loud were beating there.

“Descending softly then, I pressed

The latch, and found the simple door

Obey my touch, and then I blessed

Such guileless ways and sought the shore.

“The rest you know, or may surmise;

The grief were guilty that could bear

The sheen of these resplendent skies

Unmoved, nor find some solace there.

“Not such is mine; and yet the cloud

Returned full soon, for ’twould appear

That as I came I mused aloud,

And broke on your retirement here.”

“I bless the chance that brought you so,

My friend; our meeting well may be

A pleasure I would not forego,

Which speaks to me of Italy.

“But more of this again, for I

Have hopes that centre there in one

For whom in wasting age I sigh,

And pray, and fear, and still hope on.

“Meanwhile I gladly would assuage

The grief that fills your anxious breast;

Why should this idle dream engage

Your thoughts and break your spirit’s rest?

“Your love is crossed; all great loves are,

If half the tales we read be true,—

But fate remits her cruel war,

And love survives to visit you.

“All seems propitious by this sign;

Take courage, you may yet be wed.

Thus would I read the dream if mine.”

“Ah, Sir, that loving friend is dead,”

I made reply, and looked where shone

The moonlit river’s broad expanse,

More privately to muse upon

The story of my sad mischance.

But soon again the agèd spoke.

“Forgive, Oh pray forgive the jest

My foolish tongue so rashly broke;

Forgive my folly and request.

“Too well I know the grief that pains

The heart that mourns an absent one;

Of all that dwell upon these plains,

I deem myself the most alone.

“For I have mourned each early friend,

Wife, children, too, most dearly loved,

And but for one would wish to blend

My dust with theirs and be approved.

“Man’s consolation may be vain

To turn the tide that sorrow pours

For those we ne’er may see again,

But all my sympathy is yours.”

“And I shall prize it much,” I said,

“And this our interview shall be

Preserved as with the saintly dead,

Long, long within my memory.

“Still, if I may presume to name

A wish that urges me to try

Your goodness further, I would claim

The knowledge of your history.

“This tranquil shore and thoughtful moon

Invite us to prolong our stay;

I pray you then to grant the boon,

Some hours are yet until the day.”

“My son, I would but ill requite

Your trusting confidence if I

Declined the task; and yet, to-night,

I well may pause ere I comply.

“For often as this moon returns

And harvest time, recurs the date

Of an event my spirit mourns,

And I come here to meditate.

“But what of life can e’er reveal

The current of another’s years?

We truly know but that we feel,

Our joys and sorrows, hopes and fears.

“Then to my task, and may it bring

You change of thought the while I trace

My gayer course, when all was Spring,

And I a stripling in the race.”

He said, and pausing, oft he threw

A glance where bright the river ran,

As if to bring the past to view,

And then the sage his tale began.