The Melody

Oh! Lady, thou star of my life, no more Thy clear beams shine on me, And sorrow hath shrouded my lone days o’er Withheld from the sight of thee. Lenore! Lenore! in the forest I cry— Mere desolate echoes the sole reply!

My spirit is pining to hear thy voice, My heart to behold thy smile; How at the sweet sound would my soul rejoice, Thy glances my woe beguile; But despondency clouds each bright hope o’er And thrills me with fear to see thee no more.

Oh! ne’er did I know till this fearful time The depths of my love for thee, Or proved the wild anguish my soul must feel When thou art afar from me. To my cry in the forest—Lenore! Lenore! Echo seems but to answer—“no more, no more.”

No balm to keen sorrow, by day I find, No joy in the noonday light, And but once mid my watchings and thoughts on thee Sweet solace relieved me at night. For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there came A soft gentle voice that whispered my name.

Was it the last tones of his moving lay, Reverberating from the rock behind, Which gave that sound? He rose to pass away, But ’twas repeated, and his startled mind Heard feeble accents borne upon the wind As from a voice, but hollow, faint, and low, Like human wailings deep in earth enshrined. Breathless he listened, whence they came to know, And found them from a cleft, near that rock’s haughty brow.

He swiftly climbed, and gained that fissure high, Like some air-passage to a hidden cave; He spoke aloud, and then a sweet reply Unbounded gladness to his spirit gave: “Fidelio! ah, I know thou’rt come to save Thy sad Lenore from this enchanter’s power, And raise her joyful from this living grave, To be thine own, thy loved for evermore; My heart said thou wouldst come, and to despond forbore.

“But human strength can be of no avail To rend the vastness of this dungeon wall; Then seek the hermit, dwelling in the vale, Beside the eastern mount, and straightway call His wisdom to thine aid, for he can all The spells of magic by his skill destroy, And make the strongholds of enchantment fall; For naught so pleases him as to annoy “Those powers of hell, and mar their fiendish joy.”

Soon was that good and holy hermit found, In his lone habitation far away, And help implored. Said he, “Sir Knight, if sound, True, pure, and perfect, be thy love, the way To free the maid from magic’s direful sway Is short and certain, but will try thy might Of heart and arm. Beneath where she doth lay, Through that hard rock, for full five fathoms straight, Thine hand must dig along, and mine thro’ jewels bright.

“This having done, thou wilt behold a cell Of golden ingots, and large diamonds full; And laid thereon, a wand of power, to quell The might of magic and its spells annul; No more I utter! if thine heart be dull In its affections, or thy love untrue, And seek those gay gems round about to cull, Then thou thy daring enterprise wilt rue; “But if thy soul be pure, then triumph waits on you.”

The knight returned, and to his task applied, With joyful heart and persevering aim; No gold veins tempting in the rock’s rich side, Nor diamond treasures when he to them came; He seized the wand, and, waving it, a flame Of silvery brightness shone within the grot; He struck the sides, and, answering to the same, Around full tones of music seemed to float Aloft in air, and soon appeared the Maid he sought!

When that sweet moment of entrancement passed, They found themselves within a woody glade; And hoards of glittering wealth around them cast, Which to the Castle unseen hands conveyed; And now that mighty fortalice displayed No signs of ruin, but it stood erect In all its former gorgeousness arrayed, A noble building with a proud aspéct Its enemies to daunt, its inmates to protect.

Bright was the morning, when that truth-tried pair Their glad vows plighted to the sacred priest; Brave banners fluttered in the mountain air, Proud music floated, and the marriage feast, By regal bounty and rich gifts increased, Was gaily honoured through the realms around; Nor yet for many days those pleasures ceased, But they in castle, and in cot were found, Making each spirit blithe, each joyous heart rebound.

The brave Fidelio in the Holy Land Had won such treasures from the Infidel, All by the might of valour’s potent hand, When in these last wars he had sought to quell His arrogant power; that to his share there fell Such mighty wealth as all his sacrifice Of fervent piety repaid full well, Redeeming back his lands; mid gay surprise To twice endow Lenore, to him the noblest prize!

Rich were the hours of their unfolding love, And sweeter still the time of plighted vows, But richer, sweeter far than these above, Their wedded life, when every hour arose Some new and deep affection to disclose; Some fond remembrance, some delighted thought To link their hearts. Oft in this hushed repose Of mutual confidence their feelings caught The poet’s sacred fire, and thus in songs were wrought—