PART I.

The morning dawn’d serenely gay; The feather’d warblers hail’d the day; The sun it shone forth bright and fair; And vernal fragrance wooed the air.

O’er the brown hill and verdant green, A thousand joyous forms were seen; All Nature’s works were blithe and gay,-- For this was Osmond’s nuptial day.

High on a rock, whose rugged brow Frown’d sternly o’er the vales below, 10 And seem’d upon their charms to low’r, Arose young Osmond’s stately tow’r.

Now up the craggy steep ascends A train of vassals, and of friends; Here serf in festive garb array’d, Here hoary sire, here matron staid, Here plumed lord, and blushing maid, Sweep on in long, long cavalcade.

See, where his foaming courser’s speed High Osmond reins by Emma’s steed; 20 See, how his melting eyes impart The love-sick tale that warms his heart; The while her blushing looks reveal The joy her eyes would fain conceal.

Each winning charm, each female grace, Deck’d that soft virgin’s angel face; While Cupid, thron’d in beauty warm, Shone on her lover’s manly form: Yet there, although he striv’d to hide, You trac’d a wayward, haughty pride, 30 And a fierce something went and came, In his dark eye-ball’s rapid flame.

Lo! as they wind along the green, Sudden a female form is seen, A veil, with thickest sable dy’d, Around her face was closely tied; At Emma’s feet her form she flung, And thus her hollow accents rung:--

“O lady fair, a boon I ask, “Trust me, ’tis an easy task; 40 “No costly robe, no blazing ore, “No gem from India’s pamper’d shore, “I wish to have!--O lady fair, “Give me one lock of thy bright hair!” ‘A golden ringlet from my bride,’ In accents gay, young Osmond cried; ‘In truth, it is a strange request, ‘Yet, as she has so warmly prest, ‘Mine Emma, grant the rich bequest.’

Upon the stranger, Emma’s eyes 50 Gaz’d for awhile in soft surprise, While o’er her damask cheek arose The brightness of the morning rose.

One golden lock, that from the braid That bound her graceful curls had stray’d, And had luxuriously fell Adown her bosom’s rising swell, Was from its snowy mansion riv’n, And to the suppliant stranger giv’n.

Oh! then lord Osmond, could’st thou view 60 The features ’neath that sable hue; Could’st thou the withering sternness trace, That darken’d o’er that once-lov’d face; Sooner would’st thou, with rapture part, From vital stream that warms thy heart, Than to that shrouded female’s hold Consign the curl of wavy gold.

Soon as the stranger seiz’d the prize, Swift as the hunted roebuck flies, Away, away, across the mead, 70 Scour her feet with fairy speed. Leave we awhile the blithsome throng, That thickly, gaily sweep along, And to that stranger turn our song.

Deep in a vale’s sequester’d shade, Blossom’d a young and lovely maid, Enchanting Geraldine! To thee, Suppliant nobles bent the knee, For never human eye might trace A finer form, or fairer face. 80 But every ardent suit she flies, And casts on all averted eyes, ’Till Osmond came!--What female soul Could e’er withstand his soft control, Could see him weep, could hear him sigh, And mark the language of that eye, And still unthaw’d, unmov’d remain?-- Alas! for _her_, th’ attempt was vain!

Long time the pair enamour’d, prove The blissful joys of mutual love, 90 ’Till Osmond cool’d!--On weak pretence, He, feigning matter of offence, Deserted her, whose faithful heart Could ne’er from Osmond’s image part. What anguish’d grief, what love by turns, In Geraldine’s rack’d bosom burns,-- Sighs, tears, and groans, consum’d the day! Sighs, tears, and groans, wore night away! At length the fatal news is brought, “Lord Osmond has in spousals sought 100 “The high-born Emma!”--Oh, what pain Thrill’d then across her madd’ning brain, ’Till fondness fled, and direful rage, And vengeance stern, her thoughts engage. But lo! her beldam nurse appears, Well worn in vice, and bow’d with years, A potent witch! whose dreadful spell Had pow’r to bind the fiends of hell.

To her the injur’d beauty flies, Her soul fierce flashing in her eyes, 110 And weeping tells her, how the youth Had broke his vows of love and truth. “What though, alas!” the fair one cried, “I may not, cannot be his bride, “Revenge is mine! may death and wo-- “Whom would I curse?--my Osmond!--no! “_Him_, Dira, _him_, though faithless, spare,-- “Turn all thy vengeance on the fair, “Who’s robb’d me of his valued heart, “Stab, stab her soul with poison’s dart,-- 120 “Against _her_, all thy charms employ, “Her life, her soul, her all destroy!” She ceas’d; but still her eye-ball’s glare Shew’d vengeance fierce and fix’d was there, And still that brow declares too well, What human tongue can feebly tell.

Her Dira soothes, and hastes t’ unfold The secrets of a heart grown old In vice,--whose very name would thrill And damp the soul with shudd’ring chill, 130 And to her awe-struck list’ner tells Her hellish charms, and demon spells; Proceeds the dreadful means to shew, To blight young Emma’s hopes with wo.

One thing alone would still remain, And Geraldine must that obtain, To aid their plans,--from Emma fair, On nuptial day, a lock of hair.

Her well-known features now to hide, _A veil, in thickest sable dy’d,_ 140 _Around her lovely face was tied_. And she it was, upon that day, Who met the lovers in their way, And gain’d the prize!--for, in her hold Bright beams the wavy lock of gold.

Mean time to Osmond’s lofty halls, The God of Love and Pleasure calls. Hark, hark, loud clamours rend the air, “Long live our Lord and Emma fair!” Hark, hark, the minstrels tune their lays, 150 In one glad song of joy and praise; And love and wit combine their pow’r, To gild with bliss each halcyon hour; And all around is blithe and gay,-- For this is Osmond’s nuptial day!

END OF PART I.

GERALDINE;

OR,

_THE FATAL BOON_.