Scared, alarm'd by those feelings to which, on the day
Just before, all his heart had so soon given way,
When he caught, with a strange sense of fear, for assistance
At what was, till then, the great fact in existence,
'Twas a phantom he grasp'd.
Having sent for his guide,
He order'd his horse, and determin'd to ride
Back forthwith to Bigorre.
Then, the guide, who well knew
Every haunt of those hills, said the wild lake of Oo
Lay a league from Serchon; and suggested a track
By the lake to Bigorre, which, transversing the back
Of the mountain, avoided a circuit between
Two long vallies; and thinking, 'Perchance change of
'May create change of thought,' Alfred Vargrave agreed, Mounted horse, and set forth to Bigorre at full speed.
His guide rode beside him.
The great Bernard himself! ever boldly he rides,
Ever gaily he sings! For to him, from of old,
The hills have confided their secrets, and told
Where the white partridge lies, and the cock o' the woods;
Where the izard flits fine through the cold solitudes;
Where the bear lurks perdu; and the lynx on his prey
At nightfall descends, when the mountains are grey ;
Where the sassafras blooms, and the blue-bell is born,
And the wild rhododendron first reddens at morn;
Where the source of the waters is fine as a thread;
How the storm on the wild Maladetta is spread;
Where the thunder is hoarded, the snows lie asleep,
Whence the torrents are fed, and the cataracts leap;
And, familiarly known in the hamlets, the vales
Have whisper'd to him all their thousand love-tales;
He has laugh'd with the girls, he has leap'd with the boys;
Ever blithe, ever bold, ever boon, he enjoys
An existence untroubled by envy or strife,
While he feeds on the dews and the juices of life.
And so lightly he sings, and so gaily he rides,
For BERNARD LE SAUTEUR is the king of all guides!
But Bernard found, that day, neither song nor love-tale,
Nor adventure, nor laughter, nor legend avail
To arouse from his deep and profound reverie
Him that silent beside him rode fast as could be.
Ascending the mountain they slacken'd their speed, And the prospect that met them was wondrous indeed! The breezy and pure inspirations of morn
Breath'd about them. The scarp'd ravaged mountains, all
By the torrents, whose course they watch'd faintly meander,
Were alive with the diamonded shy salamander.
They paused o'er the bosom of purple abysses,
And wound through a region of green wildernesses ;
The waters went wirbling above and around,
The forests hung heap'd in their shadows profound.
Here the Larboust, and there Aventin, Castellon,
Which the Demon of Tempest, descending upon,
Had wasted with fire, and the peaceful Cazeaux
They mark'd; and far down in the sunshine below,
Half dipp'd in a valley of airiest blue,
The white happy homes of the village of Oo,
Where the age is yet golden.
The wrecks of the combat of Titans were spread.
Red granite and quartz, in the alchemic sun,
Fused their splendours of crimson and crystal in one;
And deep in the moss gleam'd the delicate shells,
And the dew linger'd fresh in the heavy harebells ;
The large violet burn'd; the campanula blue;
And Autumn's own flower, the saffron, peer'd through
The wild rhododendrons and thick sassafras;
And fragrant with thyme was the delicate grass;
And high up, and higher, and highest of all,
The secular phantom of snow!
Of a deep and circuitous valley below,
That aërial spectre, reveal'd in the glow
Of the great golden dawn, hovers faint on the eye
And appears to grow in, and grow out of, the sky,
And plays with the fancy, and baffles the sight.
Only reach'd by the first rosy ripple of light,
And the cool star of eve, the Imperial Thing,
Half unreal, like some mythological king
That dominates all in a fable of old,
Takes command of a valley as fair to behold
As aught in old fables; and, seen or unseen,
Dwells aloof over all, in the vast and serene
Sacred sky, where the footsteps of spirits are furl'd
'Mid the clouds beyond which spreads the infinite world
Of man's last aspirations, -unfathom'd, untrod,
Save by Even and Morn, and the angels of God.
Meanwhile, as they journey'd, that serpentine road,
Now abruptly reversed, unexpectedly show'd
A gay cavalcade some few feet in advance.
Alfred Vargrave's heart beat; for he saw at a glance
The slight form of Lucile in the midst. His next look
Show'd him, joyously ambling beside her, the Duke.
The rest of the troop which had thus caught his ken
He knew not, nor noticed them (women and men).
They were laughing and talking together. Soon after
By his sudden appearance suspending their laughter,
He found himself close to Lucile.
A faint cry escaped her. Her horse slightly rear'd.
You here!... I imagined you far on your way
To Bigorre!'...she exclaim'd. 'What has caused you to stay?'
'I am on my way to Bigorre,' he replied,
But, since my way would seem to be yours, let me ride
'For one moment beside you.' And then, with a stoop, At her ear, ... 'and forgive me!'
Had regather'd its numbers.
As the cloud 'neath their feet, on its way to the vale.
The Duke had observed it, nor quitted her side,
For even one moment, the whole of the ride.
Alfred smiled, as he thought 'he is jealous of her!'
And the thought of this jealousy added a spur
To his firm resolution and effort to please.
He talk'd much; he was witty, and quite at his ease.
After noontide, the clouds, which had traversed the east
Half the day, gather'd closer, and rose and increased.
The air changed and chill'd. As though out of the ground,
There ran up the trees a confused hissing sound,
And the wind rose. The guides sniff'd, like chamois, the air,
And look'd at each other, and halted, and there Unbuckled the cloaks from the saddles. The white Aspens rustled, and turn'd up their frail leaves in fright. All announced the approach of the tempest.
Thick darkness descended the mountains among;
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