Lady Lenore and Her Lover [pp. 109-110]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
109
selves to the current of swelling events; nor are the
instances rare, although rarely appreciated, of great
virtue and capacity struggling in the tide'of adversity,
and sinking, not from any defect of their own resources,
but by the depression of their fortune, and who have
thus forfeited the world's applause, which awaits rather the prosperous than the deserving. But such is
not the estimate of men and events which history owes
to posterity; and in transmitting worth to fame, she
should pay no adulation to fortune. In her discriminating page the character of John Smith will stand
conspicuous, unclouded by the obscurity of the times,
and the adversity of the events in which he acted and
suffered-conspicuous for a constellation of high and
shining attributes, such as at once inspire their possessor with the conception of great designs, and qualify
him for their consummation. And his claims to reputation will not be tested merely by his achievements,
when it is considered that his destinies confined him to
a range of action too narrow for his capacity. How
unjust to circumscribe his fame to the limits of a colony,
whose faculties were capable to remove and extend the
confines of empires! His glory dilates itself beyond
the sphere to which it had been assigned by circumstances, and lays claim to the merit of any achievement
possible to the greatest virtue.
CAPTIVITY OF SMITH.
Captain Smith was not aware of the stealthy approach of the Indians; a slight wound by an arrow
was the first intimation he had of their presence.
In this peril, of a nature to quell the greatest courage, because its exercise must be hopeless, his energies
did not desert him; seizing his Indian guide, he constrained him to serve as a shield against the missiles of
the assailants-and interposing the Indian's person between himself and his enemies, he commenced his
retreat in the direction of the canoe; but being obliged
to make face to the Indians, his progress was consequently retrograde, and thus not being able to pick his
way, he sunk through the ice to the waist in a morass.
Here, embarrassed as he was, he slew with his musket
three of the Indians, and for several hours kept the
others at a distance, until fatigued with his fruitless
efforts to extricate himself from the morass, and benumbed by the cold, he desisted from the idle contest.
The Indians dared not yet approach him, until he had
thrown his arms to a distance from him, when they
raised him and carried him to a fire at the canoe, near
which lay the dead bodies of his companions.
Smith, with the vague intention of gaining time, and
of making a favorable impression upon his captors, endeavored to establish a communication with their chief,
whom he propitiated by the offering of his pocket compass. The curiosity of the savage was forcibly roused
by the apparent life in the vibrations of the needle, the
motions of which were visible through the crystal,
although it eluded his touch; but when the prisoner,
by signs, and so much of their language as he had acquired, engaged his attention to the description of its
properties and uses-how, by its indication alone, the
solitary hunter could track his pathless way, in darkness, through the deepest forests, and direct his canoe
through the expanse of waters to its destined point,
and this bymysterious and inscrutable influence between
the heavenly bodies and the little talisman he held in
his hands, the Indian's faculties were absorbed in the
recital, and he remained fixed in an attitude of mute
and vague wonder.
* * + * * *
LADY LEONORE AND HER LOVER.
FYTTE I.
Leonore. Why art thou sad?
Lover. Sweet Leonore
Come hither and list! On their golden shore
Yon waters sing. The winds are nigh;
They have swept all cloud from the starry sky;
And a rare song-woof their fingers weave
On earth-in air.'Tis a pleasant eve!
A magic is in wind, moon and starA magic that winneth hearts afar
To the days that are past. Come, best beloved,
Look forth from this lattice: own the spell
Which hath moved a spirit long unmovedWhile 1 tell thee a tale I love to tell.
Leon. A tale thou lovest!
Lover. Aye, by my word!
As her wail is dear to the shadow bird,
Whose haunt is low in yon Linden glen,
I love the tale of my grievous pain.
The bird of the shadow will wail her wailCome hither, sweet Lady, and list my tale;
No word of my lip shall wound thine ear.
Leon. I will list thy story-but 0, not here!
This lattice!-Hast thou
Lover. Forgotten?-no.
Here-erst-when the moon-a bended bowRained its ray-arrows on wave and air,
And their jewelled points illumed thy hair,
I saw thy lips part, and heard thee say,
Thou wouldst love me well till thy dying day.
I am happy!-But Lady, thou wilt not blame
This lip that sad words-sad words-brim o'er
At thought of one whom I may not name.
Wilt thou list my dark story, sweet Leonore?
Leon. I hear thee.
Lover. The stars and the white-armed moon
Are bright in heaven; and the breath of June
In the faint wind liveth. On such a night,
With the sky as blue, with the moon as bright,
I roved with one by a lonely shore;
I have loved another, sweet Leonore!
Leon. I hear thee!
Lover. Wan were the brow and cheek
Of her whose name I may not speak;
And gentle the flow of her long fair hair;
And her azure eye had a beauty rare.
I won that girl to my doting heart:
But a rival came, and his fiendish art
Fell witheringly-as falls the dew
On Brandon night. Her kinsman knew
That'twas a sinful and deadly stainThis last wild love-so not again
Met they-the lovers-in peace or pain!
-He who had won by his fiendish art
Died mad; and she of a broken heart.
VOL. II.-15