Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/675

1850-60.] CARRIE C. PENNOCK. 659 Where the battlements' dark outlines Crown the heights of EUasmore. Spake the aged seneschal : " Bring to me the turret key, Northward, looking o'er the Tyrol, Southward o'er the billowy sea ; For I bethink me yesternight I caught a gleam of vestments white, Upon the battlements' dark height ; And words, methought, of earnest prayer, And white hands clasped in moonlit air; 'Twas Leonore, for ne'er before Prayed maiden like blessed Leonore." Some spake of sacrilege, to dare The turret's strange, and weird-like air, And bade to chapel first, to prayer. But swiftly, through the castle-hall, He hies him to its northern wall. Plants the huge key, and quickly dares. The turret's dark and tortuous stairs. The height was won ; there, on the floor. Her face turned toward the dim sea-shore, Lay Leonore, fair Leonore, Bright, beauteous, hapless Leonore, Her pillow but the turret stone. The turret shadows o'er her thrown, And her dark tresses, like the night. Vailing a form of wondrous light. And they laid her where the Adige Sings its prelude to the sea, And the dark Tyrolean mountains Send their torrents to the lea; And the castle now is crumbling, Gone the light of EUasmore, Gone, to beacon onward wand'rers. Seeking for that unseen shore ; Done with watching, done with praying On the turret's lonely height, Done with waiting and with weeping, Through the long and weary night ; And the casket sweetly slumbers. Where the Adige to the shore Sends its tribute, and the billows Chant the dirge of fair Le'nore. A PICTURE. 'Twas of a maiden, wondi'ous fair, With wildering curls of raven hair. That draped her snowy neck and ai-ms. And kissed her bosom's dimpled charms, Yet through whose meshes, dark as night, Came glimpses of her beauty bright ; As sometimes through a cloud, afar. Come glimmerings of the evening star. One snowy arm across her breast. The silken boddice lightly pressed ; And nestled 'mid the laces light. Four dimpled fingers, soft and white ; As though, before the mirror's face, With careless and bewitching grace. She dressed her swaying form, perchance. To glide through some fair country dance; And then her eye, so soft, so bright, Gazelle-like in its changeful light, Beneath whose darkly fringed lid, Young Cupid kept his sorrows hid, And sent, with swift, unerring art, Their stinging points to many a heart. The lips were closed, yet all the while, Half trembled 'twixt a sigh and smile, For Love, the rogue, though unconfessed, Had stolen coyly to her breast. Illuming with his tender rays. The picture fair, that those who gazed. Might drink somewhat, from that sweet face, An angel's purity and grace.