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The Ruin.

by Susanna Moodie

I know a cliff, whose steep and craggy brow

O'erlooks the troubled ocean, and spurns back

The advancing billow from its rugged base;

Yet many a goodly rood of land lies deep

Beneath the wild wave buried, which rolls on

Its course exulting o'er the prostrate towers

Of high cathedral--church--and abbey fair,--

Lifting its loud and everlasting voice

Over the ruins, which its depths enshroud,

As if it called on Time, to render back

The things that were, and give to life again

All that in dark oblivion sleeps below:--

Perched on the summit of that lofty cliff

A time-worn edifice o'erlooks the wave,

"Which greets the fisher's home-returning bark,"

And the young seaman checks his blithesome song

To hail the lonely ruin from the deep.

Majestic in decay, that roofless pile

Survives the wreck of ages, rising still

A mournful beacon o'er the sea of time,

The lonely record of departed years:--

Yes--those who view that ruin feel an awe

Sink in the heart, like those who look on death

For the first time, and hear within the soul

A voice of warning whisper,--"Thus, e'en thus,

All human glories perish--rent from time,

And swallowed up in that unmeasured void,

O'er which oblivion rolls his sable tide."--

Such thoughts as these that moss-grown pile calls forth

To those who gaze upon its shattered walls,

Or, musing, tread its grass-grown aisles, or pause

To contemplate the wide and barren heath,

Spreading in rude magnificence around,

With scarce a tree or shrub to intersect

Its gloomy aspect, save the noble ash

That fronts the ruins, on whose hoary trunk

The hurricanes of years have vainly burst,

To mar its beauty;--there sublime it stands,

Waving its graceful branches o'er the soil

That wraps the mouldering children of the land.

The shadowy splendour of an autumn sky

Was radiant with the hues of parting day;

The glorious sun seemed loth to leave the west,

That glowed like molten gold--a saffron sea

Fretted with crimson billows, whose rich tints

Gave to the rugged cliff and barren heath

A ruddy diadem of living light!

Hark!--'tis the lonely genius of the place

Sighs through the wind-stirred branches and bewails

Its desolation to the moaning blast,

That sweeps the ivy on the dark gray walls!--

No--'twas a sound of bitter agony

Wrung from the depths of some o'erburdened heart,

Which in life's early morning had received

A sad inheritance of sighs and tears.

Starting, I turned--and seated on the ground

Beside the broken altar I beheld

A female figure, whose fantastic dress

And hair enwreathed with sprigs of ash and yew

Bespoke a mind in ruins. On her brow

Despair had stamped his iron seal; her cheek

Was pale as moonlight on the misty wave;

Her hollow eyes were fixed on vacancy,

Or wildly sent their hurried glances round

With quick impatient gesture, as in quest

Of some loved object, present to her mind,

But shut for ever from her longing view.

The sun went down. She slowly left her seat

And cast one long sad look upon the wave;

Then poured the anguish of her breaking heart

In a low plaintive strain of melody,

That rose and died away upon the breeze,

The mournful requiem of her perished hopes:--

Hark! the restless spirits of ocean sigh;

I can hear them speak as the wind sweeps by.

See, the ivy has heard their mystic call,

And shivering clings to the broken wall,

The dark green leaves take a sadder shade,

And the flowers turn pale and begin to fade;

The landscape grows dim in the deepening gloom,

And the dead awake in the silent tomb.

I have watched the return of my true-love's bark,

From the sun's uprising till midnight dark;

I have watched and wept through the weary day,

But his ship on the deep is far away;

I have gazed for hours on the whitening track

Of the pathless waters, and called him back,

But my voice returned on the moaning blast,

And the vessel I sought still glided past.

We parted on just such a lovely night:

The billows were tossing in cloudless light,

And the full bright moon on the waters slept;

And the stars above us their vigils kept,

And the surges whispered a lullaby,

As low and as sweet as a lover's sigh--

And he promised, as gently he pressed my hand,

He would soon return to his native land.

But long months have fled, and this burning brain

Is seared with weeping and watching in vain.

A dark dark shade on my bosom lies,

And nights of sorrow have dimmed these eyes;

The roses have fled from my pallid cheek,

And the grief that I feel no words can speak;

I have made my home with the graves of the dead,

And the cold earth pillows my aching head!

He will come!--he will come!--I know it now;

The waves are dancing before his prow;

He comes to speak peace to my aching heart,

To tell me we never again shall part;

I can hear his voice in the freshening breeze,

As his bark glides o'er the rippling seas,

And my heart will break forth into laughter and song,

When I lead him back through the gazing throng.

Ah, no--where yon shade on the water lies

The slow-rising moon deceives my eyes,

And the tide of sorrow within my breast

Rolls on like the billows that never rest;

I will look no more on the heaving deep,

But return to my lowly bed and weep:

He will come to my dreams in the darksome night,

And his bark will be here with the dawn of light!

When the song ceased, she turned her heavy eyes

With such a piteous glance upon my face;

It pierced my heart, and fast the gathering tears

Blinded my sight. Alas! poor maniac;

For thee no hope shall dawn--no tender thought

Wake in thy blighted heart a thrill of joy.

The immortal mind is levelled with the dust,

Ere the tenacious cords of life give way.

Hers was a common tale--she early owned

The ardent love that youthful spirits feel,

And gave her soul in blind idolatry

To one dear object; and his ship was lost

In sight of port--lost on the very morn

That should have smiled upon their bridal rite.

She saw the dreadful accident like one

Who saw it not; and from that fatal hour

All memory of it faded from her mind,

And still she watches for the distant sail

Of him, who never, never can return!

Poor stricken maid! thy best affections,

Thy hopes, thy wishes centred all in earth--

Earth has repaid thee with a broken heart!

Love to thy God had known no rash excess,

For in his service there is joy and peace;

A light, which on thy troubled mind had shed

Its holy influence, and those tearful eyes

Had then been raised in gratitude to heaven,

Nor chased delusive phantoms o'er the deep!