LETTER XXVII.
WorthytoMyra.
Belleview.
I AM just returned from a melancholy excursion withEliza. I will give you the history of it—We generally walk out together, but we this time went further than usual—The morning was calm and serene—all Nature was flourishing, and its universal harmony conspired to deceive us in the length of the way.
WHILE we were pursuing our walk, our ears were struck with a plaintive, musical voice, singing a melancholy tune.—“This,”said Mrs.Holmes, “must beFidelia—the poor distracted girl was carried off by a ruffian a few days before her intended marriage, and her lover, in despair, threw himself into the river,”—Elizacould say no more—forFideliaresumed her melancholy strain in the following words:—
TALL rose the lily’s slender frame,It shed a glad perfume;But ah! the cruel spoiler came,And nipt its opening bloom.Curse on the cruel spoiler’s handThat stole thy bloom and fled—Curse on his hand—for thy true loveIs number’d with the dead.Poor maiden! like the lily frail,’Twas all in vain you strove;You heard the stranger’s tender tale—But where was thy true love?Thou wast unkind and false to him,But he did constant prove;He plung’d headlong in the stream—Farewel, farewel, my love!’Twas where the river rolls along,The youth all trembling stood,Opprest with grief—he cast himselfAmidst the cruel flood.White o’er his head the billows foam,And circling eddies move;Ah! there he finds a watery tomb—Farewel, farewel, my love!
TALL rose the lily’s slender frame,It shed a glad perfume;But ah! the cruel spoiler came,And nipt its opening bloom.Curse on the cruel spoiler’s handThat stole thy bloom and fled—Curse on his hand—for thy true loveIs number’d with the dead.Poor maiden! like the lily frail,’Twas all in vain you strove;You heard the stranger’s tender tale—But where was thy true love?Thou wast unkind and false to him,But he did constant prove;He plung’d headlong in the stream—Farewel, farewel, my love!’Twas where the river rolls along,The youth all trembling stood,Opprest with grief—he cast himselfAmidst the cruel flood.White o’er his head the billows foam,And circling eddies move;Ah! there he finds a watery tomb—Farewel, farewel, my love!
TALL rose the lily’s slender frame,It shed a glad perfume;But ah! the cruel spoiler came,And nipt its opening bloom.
TALL rose the lily’s slender frame,
It shed a glad perfume;
But ah! the cruel spoiler came,
And nipt its opening bloom.
Curse on the cruel spoiler’s handThat stole thy bloom and fled—Curse on his hand—for thy true loveIs number’d with the dead.
Curse on the cruel spoiler’s hand
That stole thy bloom and fled—
Curse on his hand—for thy true love
Is number’d with the dead.
Poor maiden! like the lily frail,’Twas all in vain you strove;You heard the stranger’s tender tale—But where was thy true love?
Poor maiden! like the lily frail,
’Twas all in vain you strove;
You heard the stranger’s tender tale—
But where was thy true love?
Thou wast unkind and false to him,But he did constant prove;He plung’d headlong in the stream—Farewel, farewel, my love!
Thou wast unkind and false to him,
But he did constant prove;
He plung’d headlong in the stream—
Farewel, farewel, my love!
’Twas where the river rolls along,The youth all trembling stood,Opprest with grief—he cast himselfAmidst the cruel flood.
’Twas where the river rolls along,
The youth all trembling stood,
Opprest with grief—he cast himself
Amidst the cruel flood.
White o’er his head the billows foam,And circling eddies move;Ah! there he finds a watery tomb—Farewel, farewel, my love!
White o’er his head the billows foam,
And circling eddies move;
Ah! there he finds a watery tomb—
Farewel, farewel, my love!
WE advanced towards the place from where the sound issued, andFidelia, who heard our approach, immediately rose from the ground; “I was tired,” said she, “and sat down here to rest myself.”
SHE was dressed in a long white robe, tied about the waist with a pink ribband; her fine brown hair flowed loosely round her shoulders—In her hand she held a number of wildflowers and weeds, which she had been gathering. “These,” she cried, “are to make a nosegay for my love.” “He hath no occasion for it,” saidEliza. “Yes! where he lives,” criedFidelia, “there are plenty—and flowers that never fade too—I will throw them into the river, and they will swim to him—they will go straight to him”—“And what will he do with them?” I asked; “O!” said the poor girl as she looked wistfully on them, and sorted them in her hand, “he loves everything that comes from me—he told me so”—“He will be happy to receive them,” criedEliza. “Where he is,” saidFidelia, “is happiness—and happy are the flowers that bloom there—and happy shall I be, when I go to him—alas! I am very ill now”—“He will love you again,” saidEliza, “when you find him out”—“O he was very kind,” cried she, tenderly, “he delighted to walk with me over all these fields—but now, I am obligedto walk alone.”Fideliadrew her hand across her cheek, and we wept with her.—“I must go,” she said, “I must go,” and turned abruptly from us, and left us with great precipitation.
Farewel!
Farewel!
Farewel!
Farewel!