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Title: Elfindale
Author: James Avis Bartley [
More Titles by Bartley]
PART FIRST.
Sweet Frankie lives in Elfindale;
Where all the flowers are fair, and frail
(Like her fair self,) a slender fairy,
And like a zephyr, playsome, airy,
But lovelier far, than buxom Mary.
Now, since I saw her full, bright eyes,
And heard her tongue's rich melodies,
Solace the evening air,
Sweet Elfindale, e'er loved of yore,
Has grown more fair, beloved more,
A part of some fay-walked shore,
A haunt of beauties rare.
The gay dawn smells more fragrant there,
(When youthful May, new, fresh and fair,
Comes, bird-like through the laughing air,)
Than it was even of old;
And Evening throws a richer dress,
(O'er Elfindale's mild loveliness,)
Of fading pink and gold.
The moonlight nights are lovelier now,
On silent Elfindale;
More pure the beams, more soft the glow,
That sleeps upon the vale:
So much of beauty God hath given
To sweetest Frankie--gracious Heaven!
She spares so much to beautify,
Fair Elfindale to my charm'd eye,--
And yet she loses none at all
Of that which holds my soul in thrall.
Now, if my harp shall echo well,
The story of her life, and tell,
In worthy feet, her beauty's power
That flourished as a springtime flower,
I shall be richer, happier far
Than one should own a round, bright star.
And what if the fair maid should smile,
To hear my warbled strain?
Ah! that would all my grief beguile,
Undo the life of Pain.
I one time saw a laughing mirth
Leap in the maiden's eyes,
And thought the too aspiring earth
Had robbed the jewelled skies,
Of one bright angel, even her:
She made my very being stir.
I ne'er saw sweet Frankie's mother,
What I had glowed to see,
Yet think no mortal earth's another,
Bore child so fair as she.
I ween that mother was a queen
In royal qualities,
And in her lofty eyes and mien,
Lurked lovely majesties.
I ne'er saw sweet Frankie's mother,
What I had glowed to see;
But cannot, long-lost mother! smother
The love that swells for thee.
When Frankie came into this world,
In lovely Elfindale,
The winds were lulled, and waves lay curled,
Beneath the moonlight pale:
The cold stars twinkled far above,
And danced, with their bright eyes of love;
The gleaming waters did rejoice,
And breathed a soft, enamored voice;
The sleeping zephyr on his flowers,
Awaked to bless the gliding hours
Which gave this tiny being, birth,
A bliss, a Blessing to the earth.
She was, in truth, a beauteous child:
At three years old her eyes were wild
With something of a playfulness;
And then she had the softest tress
Of auburn tint, that fell and flew
About her neck of damask hue.
To watch throughout the Summer day,
The butterfly's capricious play,
Or humming bird's bright, rainbow wings,
And all gay, joyous, natural things.
To hear the poets of the grove,
Sing forth their little lays of love;
Or to survey the stars come forth,
Or dancing rainbows hug the earth:
These were the pastime and the play,
That whiled her infant hours away.
And blest was sylvan Elfindale,
With child so fair within its pale.
That was a bland and holy morn,
Like one, on very purpose, born,
A gray godmother stood,
Before the chancel's sacred place,
With Frankie's sweet and artless grace,
And heard the preacher good.
And as the bright baptism fell,
Upon her fallen tresses well,
And o'er her bosom's chastened swell,
The beauteous maiden smiled:
She looked a wingless cherub then--
My inmost spirit fluttered, when
I said, O wondrous child!
I thought a troop of angels stood
Amid that lofty fane,
And (I in that ecstatic mood)
They sped to bliss again.
That, whole bright day, I wandered wide,
O'er sunny hill and vale,
And thought no day of brighter pride
E'er lay on Elfindale;
I thought, that day dear Frankie love,
Had been new-linked with those above;
And henceforth angels would attend
The maiden, to her journey's end.
Fair Frankie grew in attributes
That harmonized like golden flutes,
Or harps of silver strain:
She loved the Lovely--growing so,
With every year's advancing flow;--
She was the Death of Pain!
The dwellers in green Elfindale,
Were happier all for her,
The very flowers she loved to trail,
With pleasure's thrill, would stir.
She loved both man and brute that dwelt
Within that vale of Good;
And they, as bettered beings, felt
New virtue--as they should.
And thus a shining, golden chain,
Of many links of love,
Knit Frankie to the peopled plain,
And to the good above.
Affection's wreathed rings of beauty,
Bound round a globe of gold;
It is my verse's pleasing duty,
To say to all, behold,
Sweet Frank that central globe of worth;
That gems, with pride, this spot of earth,
This flower-engirdled, blissful vale,
This heart-delighting Elfindale.
And now when lovely Frankie stood,
In the dear pride of womanhood,
The queen of Elfindale;
One sought her for her loveliness--
A joy--a heaven of happiness--
An earth-born angel meant to bless
My throbbing soul with rich excess
Of joys that never fail.
She sat hid in a garden bower,
Watching the first, sweet star,
That crowns the lovely twilight hour,
And glows to earth from far.
A sad sweet dream oppressed her thought,
And tinged her calm, white face;
Her eyes fixed fast, their radiance fraught,
With melancholy grace.
I stole unto her close retreat,
As winds creep on a vale;
And, standing, gazed upon the sweet,
Sweet queen of Elfindale.
She turned her head, she faintly smiled,
She bent her gaze on me;
It made my very spirit wild,
With thrilling ecstacy.
I caught and clasped, her to my heart,
Yet never spoke a word;--
But the twin-vow that could not part,
By Love in Heaven was heard.
PART SECOND.
Again unto the lofty fane,
Sweet Frankie lightly went;
With smiling joy and same of pair
Upon her features blent.
Again, as on that sunny morn,
When white-winged angels stood,
To see her, of bright water, born,
Before the preacher good.
Again within the chancel's gloom,
She sweetly, gently stands;
With marriage hymn, with rich perfume,
With Hymen's happy bands;
With wild-rose wreaths, with gayest bloom,
And wreathed maiden's hands.
But, now she stands with me even there,
With sweetly downcast eyes,
So purely white, so passing fair,
Like one of Paradise.
The preacher speaks the solemn words,
Yet fraught with deepest bliss;
We twain in one are bound by chords,
With sob--with clasp--with kiss.
Returning from that sacred place,
All earth and sky rejoiced,
And all the winds and waters' race
Their compliments then voiced.
The birds sang sweetly on the spray,
As they ne'er sang before;
And love lay o'er the world away,
A robe of golden ore.
And now, we live in Elfindale,
Dear Frank and I together;
And there is light on this sweet dale,
In calm, or stormy weather.
A fairy daughter leaps between
Our nightly moving paces;
Upon whose soft and marble brow,
Gleam many artless graces.
We dwell, we dwell, in Elfindale--
I--child--and happy mother;
And, if earth holds a sweeter vale,
We cannot wish another.
Life has been arched with bluer skies,
By curved rainbows brighter;
And nature--ah! what wondrous dyes,
Now lavishly bedight her.
Love has become a glorious robe,
With thickest gold o'erladen;
And now we dwell upon a globe
Which is, indeed, an Aidenn.
I dwell with fixed eyes upon
My wife and cherub maiden,
I feel the light of that fire-sun,
That broadly shines on Aidenn,--
And all our days that brightly run,
Are heavily joy-laden--
And now we know our grief is done,
And that we dwell in Aidenn.
[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Elfindale
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