Wreathe your fantastic shoots, ye darksome trees, That spread yon verdant arch above my head, Shadowing this solemn scene, ye moss-grown caves, Romantic grottos,—all ye objects drear ;
Tell me, in pity tell me,
Thro' the long series of revolving time,
In which you have inclos'd this lonely mansion,
Say, have ye seen another wretch like me?
No, never!-You, in tend'rest sympathy,
Have join'd my plaints-you, at the midnight hour,
When with uprooted hair I've strew'd the earth,
And call'd my husband gone; have call'd in vain
Perfidious Ferdinand !-you, at that hour,
Have waken'd echo in each vocal cell,
Till ev'ry grove, and ev'ry green hill round,
Mourn'd to my griefs responsive-Well you know
The story of my woes-Ev'n yonder marble
Relenting feels the touch; receives each trace
That forms the melancholy tale-Tho' rude,
And inexpert my hand ;-though all uncouth
The instrument-yet there behold my work
Well nigh complete-Let me about it straight.
[She advances towards the rock.
Ye deep engraven letters, there remain;
And if, in future time, resistless fate
Shall throw some Briton on this dismal shore ;
Then speak aloud ;-to his astonish'd sense
Relate my sad, my memorable case
Alarm his soul, call out
CONSTANTIA,
WITH HER LITTLE INFANT,
SYLVIA,
WAS DESERTED BY HER HUSBAND,
THE PERFIDIOUS
FERDINAND;
WHO, PRETENDING TO LAND HER
FOR REFRESHMENT,
FROM THE DANGERS OF A STORMY SEA,
BARBAROUSLY LEFT HER
ON THIS UNHOSPITABLE ISLAND,
WHERE SHE ENDED HER DEPLORABLE LIFE.
FRIEND!
WHOE'ER THOU ART,
PITY MY WRONGS;
BUT AGAINST MY HUSBAND
(FOR LOVE LIKE MINE CANNOT FORGET WHERE ONCE WITH DELIGHT IT FIXED) I CHARGE YOU NEVER MEDITATE RRevenge!-the word Revenge is wanting still. Ye holy pow'rs; if with one pitying look You'll deign to view me, grant my earnest pray'r ! Let me but finish this my sad inscription;
Then let this busy, this afflicted heart,
Be still at once, and beat my breast no more.
[She goes on with her work.
Syl. My dearest mother-oh! quite out of breath! Const. What is the matter, child?
Syl. My flutt'ring heart
Beats wild with joy-Oh! such an incident !—
Const. What incident, my sweet?
My dear, my loveliest fawn-for many days
Whose loss I've mourn'd; for whose dear sake I've left
No corner of the isle unsearch'd:this moment
O'er the dew-spangled lawn, with printless feet,
Came bounding to me; playful frisk'd about
With inexpressive airs of glad surprise,
With eager signs of transport—Big round tears
Stood trembling in his eye, and seem'd to speak
His fond regret still mingling with his joy.
Const. And is it that, my love, delights thee so ?— Syl. And can you wonder, ma'am :—yes, that delights me,
Transports me, charms me;-he's my darling care,
My dear companion, my sweet little friend,
That loves me, gambols round me, watches still
With anxious tenderness my ev'ry motion,
Pants on my bosom, leaps into my arms,
And wanders o'er me with a thousand kisses.
Before this time he never once stray'd from me;
-I thought I lost him,-but he's found again!
And can you wonder I'm transported thus ?
Const. Oh! happy state of innocence!-how sweet Thy joys, simplicity e'er yet the mind
With artificial passions learns to glow;
Ere taste has ta'en our senses to her school,
Has given each well-bred appetite her laws,
Taught us to feel imaginary bliss,
Or else expire in elegance of pain.
Syl. Nay, now, again, you're growing grave-'Tis
Give laws to appetite ;-forbid each sense
To minister delight; your eyes are dimm'd
With constant tears; the roses on your cheek
Fade like yon vi'lets, when excessive dews
Have bent their drooping melancholy heads:
Soon they repair their graces; soon recal
Their aromatic lives, and smiling yicid
To sighing Zephyr all their balmy sweets.
To grief you're still a prey; still wan despair
Sits with'ring at your heart, and ev'ry feature
Has your directions to be fix'd in woe.
Nay, prithee dry those tears-you make me sad-
-Will you, at length, forget your cares?
Oh! sweet oblivion, thy all-healing balm
To wretches you refuse?-Can I forget
Perfidious Ferdinand ?-His tyrant form
Is ever present-The deluding looks,
Endearing accents, and the soft regards
With which he led me to yon moss-clad cave,
There to repose awhile-Oh! cruel man!
And you, ye conscious wilds, I call you
Accomplices in guilt!-The Zephyrs bland
That pant upon each leaf;-the melody
That warbles thro' your groves; the falling fountains That at each deep'ning cadence lull the mind,
Were all suborn'd against me; all conspir'd
To wrap me in the silken folds of sleep.
Sudden I wake-Where, where is Ferdinand ?
I rave, I shriek—no Ferdinand replies ;———
Frantic I rove thro' all your winding glades-
I seek the shore;-no Ferdinand appears-
I climb yon craggy steeps-I see the ship
Unfurling all her sails-I call aloud,
I stamp, cry out;-deaf as the roaring sea
He catches ev'ry gale that blows from heav'n,
And cleaves his liquid way.-
Syl. Why will you thus
Recal your past afflictions?
Const. Ah! what then,
Thou wretched Constance; what were then thy feels ings?
I rend my tresses-beat my breast in vain,
In vain stretch out these ineffectual arms;
Pierce with my frantic cries the wounded air,
Dash my bare bosom on the flinty rock:
Then rise again, and strain my aching sight,
To see the ship still less'ning to my view,
And take the last, last glimpse, as far, far off
In the horizon's verge she lessens still,
Grows a dim speck, and mixes with the clouds
Just vanishing-just lost-ah! seen no more.
Syl. I prithee don't talk so—my heart dies in me-
Why won't you strive a little to forget
This melancholy theme?-The twilight grey
Of morn but faintly streaks the east; the stars
Still glimmer thro' the whit'ning air; the groves
Are mute; yon all-devouring deep lies hush'd-
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