CARLOMAN AND MEROVEE.
An ancient Franconian legend.
'Twas midnight on the Gaulish plains,
And foes were mustering near,
For there Franconia's legions frown'd
With battle axe and spear.
Untented on the earth they lay
Beneath a summer sky,—
While on their slumbering host, the Moon
Look'd down with wistful eye,
As if reproachfully she sigh'd
"Oh ye of transient breath!—
How can ye rise from rest so sweet
To do the deeds of death!"—
Discoursing mid the sleeping train
Two noble youths were found;
Their graceful limbs recumbent thrown
Upon the dewy ground.—
Bold Carloman's undaunted mien
A hero's spirit shew'd,
Though Beauty on his lip and brow
Had made her soft abode.—
And Merovee's dark, hazle eye
With flashing fire was bright,
As thus with flowing words he charm'd
The leaden ear of night.
"Methinks 't were sweet once more to see
Our native forest shade,
And the wild streamlet leaping free
Along the sparkling glade,
"With merry shout, at peep of dawn,
The hunter's toil to join,
Or in the tiny boat launch forth
And rule the billowy Rhine."—
He paused,—but Carloman replied,
"Lurks not some spell behind?—
Why doth thy courtier-tongue delay
To name fair Rosalind?—
"Those raven locks, that lofty brow,
That ebon eye of pride,
With firm, yet tender glance, might well
Beseem a warrior's bride."
With trembling voice, he scarce pursued,
"Why should we shrink to say
How much we both have loved the maid?—
Yet on our parting day
"Her farewell words to me were kind,
They flow'd in silver tone,
But ah!—the tear-drop of the soul
Was shed for thee alone.—
"If in tomorrow's bloody fray,
I slumber with the slain,
And thou survive, with joy to greet
Our native vales again,
"Oh bear to her so long adored
My dying wish,"—in vain
To weave the tissued thoughts he strove,
For tears fell down like rain.
Thrice Merovee the mourner's hand
Wrung hard, and would have said,
"Fear not that Love's insidious shaft
Shall strike our friendship dead!"—
He thrice essay'd,—yet still was mute;—
Then loosed his bossy shield,
And laid him down as if to sleep
Upon the verdant field.
He laid him down,—but wakeful wo
His weary heart amazed,
And by the pale moon's waning ray
On Carloman he gazed.
The pastimes of their boyish years,
The confidence of youth,
And holy Friendship's treasured vow
Of everlasting truth,
Came thronging o'er his generous soul,
And ere the dawn of day,
Up from his restless couch he rose,
And wander'd lone away.
But Carloman in broken sleep
Still roved with troubled mind,
Oft in his dark dream murmuring deep,
"Adieu, my Rosalind!"——
Then in his ear a thrilling voice
Exclaim'd "Brave youth,—arise!—
The morn that lights to glorious strife
With purple flouts the skies:—
"No lover to his bridal hastes
With spirit half so warm,
As rush Franconia's sons to meet
Red battle's moody storm."—
Abash'd the youthful sleeper sprang,
And Merovee stood near,
An iron chain was in his hand,
And on his brow a tear.—
Then quickly round the forms of both
That stubborn band he threw,
And joined the parted links in one,
And set the rivet true.
"Think'st thou I 'd cross the rolling Rhine
And see our forests wave,
And urge my suit to Rosalind
When thou wert in thy grave?—
No!—by yon golden orb which rolls
In splendour through the air,
If honour's death this day be thine,
That holy death I'll share."
They arm'd them for the battle-field,
Their blood was boiling high,
Forgot were danger, love, and wo,
In that proud ecstacy;—
Forgot was she, whose hand alone
Could give their hope its meed,
Forgot was all in earth or heaven
Save their dear country's need.
Their rushing legions like the surge
When tempests lash the main,
With thundering shout and revelry
Spread o'er the fatal plain.
Forth came the cavalry of Gaul,
With glittering lance and spur,
Led on by warlike Constantine,
That christian Emperor.
With cloud of darts, and clash of swords,
They greet the early sun,
And when his western gate he sought
The conflict scarce was done.—
But sober twilight's mantle gray
Enwrapt a silent plain,
Save where from wounded bosoms burst
The lingering groan of pain.
Crush'd forms were there, where stubborn life
Still for the mastery pined,—
Stern brows, where death had pass'd, and left
The frown of hate behind.
And mid that ghastly train were seen
Two victims young and fair,
The chain that bound their polish'd breasts
Reveal'd what youths they were.
Bold toward the sky, the marble brow
Of Carloman was turn'd,
And firm his right hand grasp'd the sword
As if some foe he spurn'd;
His ample shield was fondly flung,
To guard his partner's breast,
And Merovee's pale, bloodless lips
Upon his cheek were prest;—
While weltering in the purple stream
That dyed their garments' fold,
Their flowing curls profusely lay,
Bright chesnut blent with gold.
And eyes that wept such fate, might read
Upon their bosom's chain,
That once when Love and Friendship strove,
The power of Love was vain.