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Mary Darby Robinson - Lewin and Gynneth
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"WHEN will my troubled soul have rest?"
  The beauteous LEWIN cried;
As thro` the murky shade of night
  With frantic step she hied. 

"When shall those eyes my GYNNETH`S face,
  My GYNNETH`S form survey ?
When shall those longing eyes again
  Behold the dawn of day ?" 

Cold are the dews that wet my cheek,
  The night-mist damps the ground;
Appalling echoes strike mine ear,
  And spectres gleam around. 

The vivid lightning`s transient rays
  Around my temples play;
`Tis all the light my fate affords,
  To mark my thorny way. 

From the black mountain`s awful height,
  Where LATHRYTH`S turrets rise;
The dark owl screams a direful song,
  And warns me as she flies ! 

The chilling blast, the whistling winds,
  The mould`ring ramparts shake;
The hungry tenants of the wood,
  Their cavern`d haunts forsake. 

Those tender limbs unus`d to stray
  Beyond a father`s door;
Full many a mile have journey`d forth,
  Each footstep mark`d with gore. 

No costly sandals deck those feet,
  By thorns and briars torn;
The cold rain chills my rosy cheek,
  Whose freshness sham`d the morn ! 

Slow steals the life-stream at my heart;
  Dark clouds o`ershade my eyes;
Foreboding sorrow tells my soul,
  My captive Lover dies. 

Yet if one gentle ray of hope
  Can sooth the soul to rest;
Oh ! may it pierce yon flinty tow`r,
  And warm my GYNNETH`s breast: 

And if soft pity`s tearful eye
  A Tyrant`s heart can move;
Ill-fated LEWIN yet may live
  To clasp her vanquish`d Love. 

And tho` stern war with bonds of steel
  His graceful form shall bind;
No earthly spell has pow`r to hold
  The freedom of his mind ! 

And tho` his warm and gallant heart
  Now yields to fate`s decree;
Its feelings spurn the base constraint,
  And fly to LOVE and ME ! 

Then, BRANWORTH, Lion of the field !
  O, hear a maiden plead;
Sheath not thy sword in GYNNETH`S breast,
  Or too, let LEWIN`S bleed ? 

To valiant feats of arms renown`d
  Shall earthly praise be giv`n;
But deeds of MERCY, mighty Chief,
  Are register`d in HEAV`N ! 

Thy praises shall resounding fill
  The Palace of thy foe;
While down the joyful LEWIN`S cheek
  The grateful tear shall flow. 

And sure the tear that VIRTUE sheds, 
  Some rapture can impart;
What gem can deck a victor`s throne 
  Like incense from the heart? 

Now the grey Morning`s silv`ry light, 
  Dawn`d in the eastern skies,
When at the lofty lattice grate 
  Her Lover`s form she spies: 

"He lives," she cried, "My GYNNETH lives !" 
  Youth of the crimson shield !
The graceful Hero of my heart, 
  The glory of the field ! 

"Come down, my soul`s delight," she said, 
  "Thy blue-ey`d LEWIN see;
YRGANVY`S Daughter, thy true Love, 
  Who only breathes for THEE: 

"Then haste THEE from thy prison house
  Ere yet the Foe doth rise !
Oh! haste, ere yet the Morning Sun 
  Doth flame along the skies. 

"Ah, speak! my heart is chill`d with fear,
  My fault`ring voice doth fail;
Why are thy darling eyes so dim, 
  Thy cheek so deathly pale ?" 

"I am THY GYNNETH`S GHOST, sweet maid, 
  Avoid the madd`ning sight;
Those eyes that doated on thy charms, 
  Are lock`d in endless night. 

"This loyal heart which beat for thee,
  Is rent with many a wound;
Cleft is my shield, my glitt`ring spear 
  Lies broken on the ground ! 

"My bones the eagle hath convey`d
  To feed her rav`nous brood;
The savage BRANWORTH`S cruel hand 
  Hath spilt my purple blood. 

"Then hie thee hence, ill-fated maid,
  Ere greater woes betide;
To where LLANGADOC`S silver streams 
  Along the vallies glide. 

"There, where the modest PRIMROSE blooms,
  Pale as thy lover`s shade;
My mangled relics shalt thou find 
  Upon the green turf laid. 

"Then hie thee hence, with holy hands,
  Build up a sacred shrine,
And oh ! chaste maid, thy faith to prove, 
  Mingle thy dust with mine ?" 

Ah ! have you seen a mother`s joy
  In cherub sweetness dress`d,
Seiz`d by the numbing hand of death,
  Expiring at her breast ? 

Or the fond maid, whom morrow`s dawn
  Had hail`d a wedded fair;
Doom`d to behold her lover`s corse
  Scorch`d by the lightning`s glare ? 

So stood the hopeless, frantic maid,
  YRGANVY`s graceful child,
Cold was her cheek, her dove-like eyes
  Fix`d in amazement wild ! 

"This panting heart," at length she cried
  "A sharper pang doth feel,
Than thine, brave youth, when rent in twain
  By BRANWORTH`S poison`d steel. 

"No more these sad and weeping eyes,
  My father`s house shall see;
Thy kindred spirit calls me hence.
  I haste to follow thee." 

Beside thy tomb the TRAV`LLER`S tear
  Shall join the crystal spring;
Around the solemn dirge of woe
  Shall sainted DRUIDS sing; 

The weary PILGRIM faint and sad, 
  Shall stay his steps awhile;
The memory of his OWN hard fate, 
  THY story shall beguile; 

There wet with many a holy tear,
  The sweetest buds shall blow,
There LEWIN`S ghost shall mark the shrine 
  A monument of woe ! 

Thrice did he ope the lattice grate, 
  And thrice he bade adieu;
When lo, to join the parting shade, 
  The MAIDEN`S SPIRIT FLEW!
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