Ode XV. the Vale of Woe

Heard ye not the raven scream? Saw ye not the sable stream? Heard ye not the bleak wind blow Adown the vale of woe?

Low in the glade, beneath yon oak That trembles o'er the gloomy rock, Where he who held her heart is laid, Behold the mourning maid.

The lovely star of dewy eve Is brilliant on the western wave; And thro' her wild locks as they stray Reveals his golden ray.

Rouzed by the solemn breathing sound, The meek roe starts and gazes round, As slowly wafts the lonely gale Her lamentable wail.

'Oh why, oh why can death destroy 'The balmy blooms of opening joy! 'Oh why the wished rest delay 'Of those who hate the day!

'With morn awakes my sole desire, 'No more to view her dreary fire, 'But parting with that dying light, 'To sleep in endless night.

'Where now our scenes of fleeting bliss? 'The winning smile, the rapturous kiss? 'The sighs from heart to heart that roll 'The sympathetic soul?

'Oft on a moonbeam to my rest 'Thy form arrives in beauty drest: 'Would that the truth my visions bore! 'Or I might wake no more!

'Nor aught avails I hither bear 'The lovelorn plaint, the hopeless tear. 'Why cannot Grief the living slay, 'Or move the silent clay?

Hark! deeper sighs the distant wood: Hark! deeper sighs the rueful flood: A blue beam glimmers o'er the heath, And liquid accents breathe!

'Sweet is the quiet of the grave! 'No fears confound, no hopes deceive; 'But pleasures pure without desire 'The sunny mind inspire.

'Cease, cease thy fruitless sorrow. Still 'New joys our kindred souls shall fill: 'For love the mortal frame survives 'And with the happy lives.'