LEWTI

OR THE CIRCASSIAN LOVE-CHAUNT

At midnight by the stream I roved,

To forget the form I loved.

Image of Lewti! from my mind

Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

The Moon was high, the moonlight gleam

　And the shadow of a star

Heaved upon Tamaha's stream;

　But the rock shone brighter far,

The rock half sheltered from my view

By pendent boughs of tressy yew.—

So shines my Lewti's forehead fair,

Gleaming through her sable hair.

Image of Lewti! from my mind

Depart; for Lewti is not kind.

I saw a cloud of palest hue,

　Onward to the moon it passed;

Still brighter and more bright it grew,

With floating colours not a few,

　Till it reached the moon at last:

Then the cloud was wholly bright,

With a rich and amber light!

And so with many a hope I seek,

　And with such joy I find my Lewti;

And even so my pale wan cheek

　Drinks in as deep a flush of beauty!

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind,

If Lewti never will be kind.

The little cloud—it floats away,

　Away it goes; away so soon?

Alas! it has no power to stay:

Its hues are dim, its hues are grey—

　Away it passes from the moon!

How mournfully it seems to fly,

　Ever fading more and more,

To joyless regions of the sky—

　And now 'tis whiter than before!

As white as my poor cheek will be,

　When, Lewti! on my couch I lie,

A dying man for love of thee.

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind—

And yet, thou didst not look unkind.

　I saw a vapour in the sky,

　Thin, and white, and very high;

I ne'er beheld so thin a cloud:

　Perhaps the breezes that can fly

　Now below and now above,

Have snatched aloft the lawny shroud

　Of Lady fair—that died for love.

For maids, as well as youths, have perished

From fruitless love too fondly cherished.

Nay, treacherous image! leave my mind—

For Lewti never will be kind.

Hush! my heedless feet from under

　Slip the crumbling banks for ever:

Like echoes to a distant thunder,

　They plunge into the gentle river.

The river-swans have heard my tread,

And startle from their reedy bed.

O beauteous birds! methinks ye measure

　Your movements to some heavenly tune!

O beauteous birds! 'tis such a pleasure

　To see you move beneath the moon,

I would it were your true delight

To sleep by day and wake all night.

I know the place where Lewti lies,

When silent night has closed her eyes:

　It is a breezy jasmine-bower,

The nightingale sings o'er her head:

　Voice of the Night! had I the power

That leafy labyrinth to thread,

And creep, like thee, with soundless tread,

I then might view her bosom white

Heaving lovely to my sight,

As these two swans together heave

On the gently swelling wave.

Oh! that she saw me in a dream,

　And dreamt that I had died for care;

All pale and wasted I would seem,

　Yet fair withal, as spirits are!

I'd die indeed, if I might see

Her bosom heave, and heave for me!

Soothe, gentle image! soothe my mind!

To-morrow Lewti may be kind.

1798