TO THE BAT
From haunt of man, from day's obtrusive glare,
Thou shroud'st thee in the ruin's ivy'd tow'r.
Or in some shadowy glen's romantic bow'r,
Where wizard forms their mystic charms prepare,
Where Horror lurks, and ever-boding Care!
But, at the sweet and silent ev'ning hour,
When clos'd in sleep is ev'ry languid flow'r,
Thou lov'st to sport upon the twilight air,
Mocking the eye, that would thy course pursue,
In many a wanton-round, elastic, gay,
Thou flit'st athwart the pensive wand'rer's way,
As his lone footsteps print the mountain-dew.
From Indian isles thou com'st, with Summer's car,
Twilight thy love--thy guide her beaming star!
To a warm imagination, the dubious forms, that float, half veiled in
darkness, afford a higher delight, than the most distinct scenery, that
the sun can shew. While the fancy thus wanders over landscapes partly of
its own creation, a sweet complacency steals upon the mind, and Refines it all to subtlest feeling,
Bids the tear of rapture roll.
The distant note of a torrent, the weak trembling of the breeze among
the woods, or the far-off sound of a human voice, now lost and heard
again, are circumstances, which wonderfully heighten the enthusiastic
tone of the mind. The young St. Foix, who saw the presentations of a
fervid fancy, and felt whatever enthusiasm could suggest, sometimes
interrupted the silence, which the rest of the party seemed by mutual
consent to preserve, remarking and pointing out to Blanche the most
striking effect of the hour upon the scenery; while Blanche, whose
apprehensions were beguiled by the conversation of her lover, yielded
to the taste so congenial to his, and they conversed in a low restrained
voice, the effect of the pensive tranquillity, which twilight and the
scene inspired, rather than of any fear, that they should be heard.
But, while the heart was thus soothed to tenderness, St. Foix gradually
mingled, with his admiration of the country, a mention of his affection;
and he continued to speak, and Blanche to listen, till the mountains,
the woods, and the magical illusions of twilight, were remembered no
more.
The shadows of evening soon shifted to the gloom of night, which was
somewhat anticipated by the vapours, that, gathering fast round the
mountains, rolled in dark wreaths along their sides; and the guides
proposed to rest, till the moon should rise, adding, that they thought a
storm was coming on. As they looked round for a spot, that might afford
some kind of shelter, an object was perceived obscurely through the
dusk, on a point of rock, a little way down the mountain, which they
imagined to be a hunter's or a shepherd's cabin, and the party, with
cautious steps, proceeded towards it. Their labour, however, was not
rewarded, or their apprehensions soothed; for, on reaching the object of
their search, they discovered a monumental cross, which marked the spot
to have been polluted by murder.