Louisa Stuart Costello: Verses about Music

By the brightness of the morning ray,
By the deepest shades of night—
Thy beauty has not pass'd away;
'Tis ever in my sight.

No sorrow e'er can light on me—
But when, beloved, we part,
My thoughts are bounded all in thee,
Thou Lote-tree* of my heart.

Thou art gone, and the brilliant light that shone
In the track of thy way is fled;
And thou leav'st the heart that loved thee alone,
Silent, and cold, and dead!

When thy smile arose, like the morning's beam,
All the world seem'd good and bright
But 'tis past like the lovely forms of a dream,
And I wake to the gloom of night.

Oh! long enough my life has been,
Since I thy love have known;
I would not change the pleasing scene,
And find its beauties flown.

Then let me die, while yet no care
Has reached my trusting breast;
While sorrow is a stranger there,
And all is joy and rest.

Let me not feel what varied pain
Life's theatre can show—
That all our present hours are vain,
And all our future woe!

Thou wert lovely to my sight,
When in yonder dell I found thee
In thy radiant beauty bright,
Though a desert spread around thee;
Like the heath-bell's purple flower,
Shrinking from a dewy shower.

Thou art rich in beauty yet,
Fair as when at first I loved thee;
All the snares that could beset,
Rank and splendour, since have proved thee;
Change thy fortune as it will,
Thou art fair and faultless still.

In early days thy fondness taught
My soul its endless love to know;
Thy image waked in every thought,
Nor fear'd my tongue to tell thee so.

In all the trusting faith of youth,
That knows no dread, that feels no care,
I deem'd thy heart was all of truth,
And I the cherish'd object there.

Alas! the vision'd bliss is gone—
Too soon those days were o'er!
This heart still loves—but loves alone—
Its joys are there no more

Yes! I had hope when first we met,
For hope and joy were in thine eye;
'Twas long before I could forget,
I trusted thee so tenderly.


And even now, though years are flown,
And all that charm'd me then was vain,
I think on happy moments flown,
Until they seem to live again.


But I awake to truth and woe,
And vanish'd is the pleasing dream,
Like the frail shade the moonbeams throw,
Or image in the passing stream

'Tis the spot where we parted—
Oh! never again
Can its breeze or its blossoms
Awake but to pain.
Ah! as fair is the scene
As it flourish'd before;
But the ray that gave life
Beams in lustre no more.
Thou art gone—like the rainbow
Departed each hue,
That gleam'd for a moment,
Then fled from the view;—
I may gaze on the cloud,
The bright shadow pass'd o'er;
But the light of thy form
Shall enchant me no more.

The transient time, for ever past,

How shall I dare review!—

The fatal day we parted last,

And wept out last adieu!

Alas! that day has swell'd to years—

That sorrow to a sea of tears!


I would the mournful thoughts would fly,

Regretted, loved in vain,

Among the dreams of memory

That never come again!—

Would their remembrance might decay,

Swept like the autumn leaves away!

Oh! had I ne'er beheld thee
How calm my life had flown!
As cold, as pure and tranquil
As some fair vale unknown;

Where never yet the footsteps
Of wand'ring man has stray'd;
That smiles in lonely beauty
Unheeded—unsurve'd.

How cheerfully the moments
In sweet content went by,
When sorrow's cloud pass'd swiftly
Across a placid sky:

The charm of peace is broken—
Can nought its dream restore?
That sky, obscured by sadness,
Shall ne'er be cloudless more.

When others saw thee gay and vain,
And saw my weakness too,—
A willing captive in thy chain,
Nor doubt nor care I knew.
When others saw thy faults too well,
And bade my heart beware,
I linger'd in thy beauty's spell,
And found no danger there.


Even when I saw how false and cold
Thou couldst to others be,
My trusting heart would not be told
Thou wert untrue to me.
Like one whom lovely fruits allure
To death and misery*,
I find my fate admits no cure,
And know the truth—to die!

If those dark eyes have gazed on me,
Unconscious of their power—
The glance in secret ecstasy
I've treasured many an hour.
If that soft voice, a single word
Has breathed for me to hear,
Like Heaven's entrancing airs, the chord
Resounded on my ear.

And yet, alas! too well I knew
That love—or hope—was vain,
The fountain whence delight I drew
Would end in yielding pain!
My folly and my peace at once
A moment could destroy;
It bade me every wish renounce,
And broke my dream of joy

Ye elves! when spangled starlight gleams,
That flit beneath the ray,
Till morning darts her magic beams
And pale night hies away:
Ye know where springs each flow'ret rare,
The sweetest seek for me:
I'll weave a chaplet rich and fair—
My father! 'tis for thee!

The flow'rs, the trees, the birds appear
To wait but on my call;
But he whose power has plac'd them here
Is dearer far than all:
My thoughts with tender pleasure rest
On each delight I see;
But all the love that swells in my breast,
My father, is for thee!

Since thou wilt banish me,
A long and last adieu!
This heart shall cherish thee,
Though ne'er those hopes renew
That once thy kindness bade me know,
And now thy falsehood turns to woe.

Since all the joy I've known,
And all the vows you made,
For ever now are flown,
As transient as a shade;
Oh! may thy fate as happy be
As that which seemed to shine on me.

Too fondly I relied,
Too easily believed;
Forgot how men have sigh'd,
And women have deceived—
I thought the world from falsehood free;
But, least of all, I doubted thee!

Nay, Inez, no more persuade;
Those are sounds that to glory should move:
Ah! ne'er for a warrior made
Were the garlands thy fondness wove.
Wake!—arouse! 'tis the battle's roar;
'Tis its light'ning afar I see!
I return with life no more,
Or, my country, thou shalt be free!
Yet, Inez, in other lands,
When around war's banners shall stream;
When rush forth our conquering bands
All radiant with bravery's beam:
Yes—then, midst the battle's roar,
I can still spare one thought for thee;
But we meet again no more,
Till, my country, thou shalt be free!

Odi quelrusignolo

Che va di ramo in ramo

Cantado; io amo; io amo.

Tasso's Aminta


This mournful heart can dream of nought but thee,

As with slow steps among these shades I move,

And hear the nightingale from tree to tree

Sighing "I love! I love!"


This mournful heart wakes to one thought alone

That still our fatal parting will renew,

To hear that bird when Spring's last eve is gone

Sighing "Adieu! Adieu!"

Fair stream of the mountain, brightly flowing
Between thy fresh margins, gay with flowers,
Life's uncertain visions showing;
Thus, like thy waters glide past the hours.
Oft on thy sunny banks I lie
And mark the waves that glitter by
With fleeting joy and brightness glowing.

Fair stream! when no more near thee reclining,
I gaze and lament for moments gone—
Cold and silent, past repining—
Still thy clear way thou wilt murmur on:
Still will thy roses bloom anew,
Though I no more their beauty view,
And yonder sun as bright be shining!

Thy form was fair, thine eye was bright,

Thy voice was melody;

Around thee beam'd the purest light

Of love's own sky.

Each word that trembled on thy tongue

Was sweet, was dear to me;

A spell in those soft numbers hung

That drew my soul to thee.

Thy form, thy voice, thine eyes are now

As beauteous and as fair;

But though still blooming is thy brow,

Love is not there.

And though as sweet thy voice be yet,

I treasure not the tone;

It cannot bid my heart forget—

Its tenderness is gone!

'Tis thy Spirit calls thee—come away!
I have sought thee through the weary day,
I have dived in the glassy stream for thee—
I have gone wherever a spirit might be:

In the earth, where di'monds hide,
In the deep, where pearls abide,
In the air, where rainbows, glancing gay,
Smile the tears of the sun away,

I have wandered; 'mid the starry zone,
Through a world by spirits only known,
Where 'tis bliss to sail in that balmy air;
But to me 'twas joyless till thou wert there.

I traced the footsteps of the fawn
As it bounded over the dewy lawn;
For the print it left was so light and fair,
I deem'd thy step had linger'd there.

I heard a sound of melody—
Sad and sweet as thy tender sigh;
'Twas the night-bird's tone, but it smote my ear,
For I thought thy own soft voice to hear.

I see a form—it is gliding on,
Like a cloud that sails in the sky alone,
And the stars gleam through its veil of white—
Oh! can it be aught of earth, so bright:
It beckons me on to my airy home—
My own lov'd spirit!—I come! I come!

On the Discovery of the Cape of Good Hope,
or Cape of Storms


Where no sound was ever heard
But the ocean's hollow roar,
As it breaks, in foamy mountains,
Along the rugged shore:

Where ev'ry wind of heaven
That has terror on its wings,
Howls to the startled echo
That through each cavern rings:


Upon that world of waters,
Where nought has ever pass'd
But the storm-bird's glittering pinions,
As it whirls amidst the blast—


Where no sail has ever wandered
Beneath that troubled sky,
Frowns the stately Cape of Storms
O'er the drear immensity!


Above whose hoary summit,
Where captive thunders sleep,
Three huge black clouds for ever
Their dreadful station keep.


We have gazed on what no other
Has ever gazed upon—
We have braved the angry spirits,
And our victory is won.


We have conquered all the dangers
Of a yet unfathom'd sea;
And we bring the prize of glory.
Our country, Spain, to thee!

Who is he that swiftly comes
In the lovely silence of night?—
I know him by his sparkling plumes,
That shine in the clear moonlight;
By the scarlet wings of his soaring bird,
And the ceaseless music round him heard.
I know him by his arrows,
And by his blossom'd bow;
By the forms of radiant beauty that bear,
And softly wave in the perfumed air,
His standard to and fro.

Often and long, on the summer sea,
In the moonlight have I watched for thee—
When the glittering beam was downward thrown,
And each wave with a crest of diamond shone.
I have seen the thin clouds sail along,
And I raised, to welcome thee, many a song;


But long have I lingered, and watch'd in vain,
To see the light of the starry train
Sweep in beauty across the sky,
To tones of heavenly harmony.


Now I behold thee! now 'tis the hour—
Yes! thou art come in thy splendour and power!—
But, no! the vision is passing on,
The bright forms vanish one by one—
On the desolate shore I am left alone!
Yet stay! oh, stay!—like lightning they move—
To well, by thy fleetness, I know thou art Love!

Fly with me, my mortal love!
Oh! haste to realms of purer day,
Where we form the morning dew,
And the rainbow's varied hue,
And give the sun each golden ray!
Oh! stay no more
On this earthly shore,
Where Joy is sick of the senseless crew;
But taste the bliss we prove,
In the starry plains above,
Queens of the meads of ether blue.

When the moon is riding high,
And trembles in the lake below,—
Then we hover in its ray,
And amid the sparkles play,
While rippling waves of silver flow.
As pure and bright
As that gleaming light:
We watch the eddying circle's bound,
And within those lucid rings
We dip our shining wings,
And scatter showers of radiance round.


When softly falls the summer shower,
Fresh'ning all the earth with green,
From the cup of many a flower,
While the purple shadows lower,
We drink the crystal tears unseen.
Then come away!
No more delay,—
Our joys and our revels haste to share.
Behold, where near thee wait,
As subjects of our state,
The shadowy spirits of the air!

ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM BAHIA

When thou stoodst amidst thy countrymen
Our captive and our foe,
What voice of pity was it then
That check'd the fatal blow?

When the name of the mighty 'Man of Fire'
Re-echoed to the sky,
And our chiefs forgot their deadly ire—
Who hail'd thy victory?

What voice like the softest, sweetest note
That rings from the slender white bird's throat,
Has soothed thee so oft to rest?
And thou hast said, so tenderly,
That to sit among willow isles with me
Was to be ever blest!

Oh! have we not wander'd in silent night
When the thick dews fell from the weeping bough;
And then these eyes, like the stars, were bright—
But are wet like those mournful branches now.

Like the leafless plant that twines around
The forest tree so fair and high,
And when in that withering clasp 'tis bound,
Leaves the blighted trunk to die,—
Thy vows round my trusting heart have bound,
And now thou leav'st me to misery!



Thou wilt not return—thy words are vain!
Thou wilt cross the deep blue sea;
And some dark-eyed maid of thy native Spain
Will hold thee far from me.

The summer will come, and our willow shore
Will hear the merman sing;
But thou wilt list to his song no more
When the rocks with his music ring:

He will murmur thy falsehood to every cave—
Or will tell of thy death on the stormy wave.
Ah! no; ah! no; 'tis of mine he'll tell—
I will weep no more—farewell!—farewell!

Look from thy bark, how I follow afar;
How I scorn the winds' and the billows' war;—
I sink! the waves ring loudly my knell;
My sorrows are passing—farewell!—farewell!

Would'st thou be happy, would'st thou be free,

Come to our woody islands with me!

Come, while the summer sun is high,

Beneath the peach tree's shade to lie;

Or thy hunter will shield thee the live-long day

In his hut of reeds from the scorching ray.

There countless birds with wings of light

Shall flit and glitter before thy sight,

And their songs from the stately palm trees nigh

Shall charm thee with ceaseless melody.


The Cayman shall not lurk within

To steal around thy bed;

But the leopard shall yield his spotted skin

That thy couch may be warmly spread.


The river-serpent, with glittering coil,

Shall plunge beneath the tide;

And the Ao shall shun the happy isle

That hails my gentle bride.


Thou shalt list to the hymn of the forest choir

As eve comes gently on,

How the woods resound

With the lengthen'd sound,

Till in distance it is gone.


Thou shalt mark the ounce in his leafy shade,

How he lures his finny prey—

Whose colours, in the gleam display'd,

Illumine the wat'ry way.


The bright dorado shall glitter by

With scales of gold and blue,

As the lucid waters tremblingly

Reflect each varying hue.

Come, my beloved, delay no more;

I linger for thee upon the shore.


Fear not the rocks that darken our course;

Our canoes are swift and strong:

Fear not the eddy's hurrying force;

We shall dart, like light, along.


The willows are waving to hail us home;

When the hunter and his bride shall come:

All the joys of summer stay for thee—

Oh, come to our woody islands with me.

What are the dreams of him who may sleep

Where the solemn voice of the troubled deep

Steals on the wind with a sullen roar,

And the waters foam along the shore?

Who shelter'd lies in some calm retreat,

And hears the music of waves at his feet?


He sees not the sail that passes on

O'er the sunny fields of the sea, alone,

The farthest point that gleams on the sight,

A vanishing speck of glittering light.


He sees not the spray that, spreading wide,

Throws its lines of snow on the dark green tide;

Or the billows rushing with crests of foam

As they strove which first should reach their home—


Their home! What home has the restless main,

Which only arrives to return again,

Like the wand'rer she bears on her stormy breast,

Who seeks in vain for a place of rest.


Lo! His visions bear him along

To rocks that have heard the mermaid's song:

Or, borne on the surface of some dark surge,

Unharm'd he lies, while they onward urge


Their rapid course, and waft him away

To islands half hid 'midst the shadowy spray,

Where trees wave their boughs in the perfum'd gale,

And bid the wave-borne stranger hail;


Where birds are flitting like gems in the sun,

And streams over emerald meadows run,

That whisper in melody as they glide

To the flowers that blush along their side.


Sorrow ne'er came to that blissful shore,

For no mortal has entered that isle before:

There the Halcyon waits on the sparkling strand

Till the bark of her lover the Nautilus land;


She spreads her purple wings to the air,

And she sees his fragile vessel there—

She sees him float on the summer sea,

Where no breath but the sigh of his love may be.


The dreamer leaps towards that smiling shore—

When, lo! the vision is there no more!

Its trees, its flowers, its birds are gone—

A waste of waters is spread alone.


Plunged in the tide, he struggles amain—

High they pour, and he strives in vain:

He sinks—the billows close over his head,

He shrieks—'tis over—the dream is fled;


Secure he lies in his calm retreat,

And the idle waters still rave at his feet.