If swains were broken-hearted,
Unbroken was my rest.
The love-lorn maiden's story
I now delight to hear!
The broken-hearted lover
Beguiles me of a tear!
And to the mountain pathway
My weary eyes I lift ;
And prize thee, faithful Carlo,
Because thou wert his gift.
My summer boat is idle,
I sail not on the lake,
My garden is neglected,
No garlands now I make.
I sit not with my sister,
To weave the golden thread;
A dog is my companion,
The dog I used to dread.
Yes, Carlo, once I fear'd thee,
Nor fear'd thy master less;
His eyes were ever on me,
Their meaning could I guess? His voice could make me tremble, Although so sweet its tone;
I sigh'd when he was near me,
And wept when he was gone.
But now I know him better-
Nay, 'tis my heart I know;
I watch the mountain pathway,
Still pacing to and fro.
And when my sister seeks me,
My sullen mood to chide,
She finds me on the rampart,
With Carlo by my side.
But, Carlo, I am weary,
I watch the path in vain ; Down, Carlo, down!-he comes not
Go to thy rest again :
Why dost thou look so wistful,
Why leap with wild delight?
Why dost thou bark? he comes not,
He will not come to-night.
But, dearest sister, I was wrong,
His bugle's note I hear;
I see him on the mountain path,
My love indeed is near!
Oh what a weary day I've spent!
My fond heart fear'd the worst;
And yet, my faithful dog, I'll own
"Twas Carlo traced him first.
I was born in a cloud of sulphureous hue-
Darkness my mother, and Flame my sire;
The earth shook in terror, as forth to its view
I
sprang from my
throne like a monarch of fire!
My brother, bold Thunder, hurraed as I sped!
My subjects laugh'd wild, till the rain from their eyes
Roll'd fast, as though torrents were dash'd over-head,
Or an ocean had burst through the bounds of the skies!
I am Prince of the Storm-of the Cloud-of the Air-
I strike the firm oak that doth ages defy;
And lo! in an instant 'tis shatter'd and bare!
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am I!
Hurrah! what a whirling and rush o'er the land;
Like the cannon of battle the dark mountains roar;
Whilst around, with my lances of fire in my hand,
I scatter wild havoc behind and before! -
Hurrah for the forest! with sounds like an ocean,
The boughs heave in billows and groan in the blast!
Then, silent as death, not a branch seen in motion,
They breathless look up when the tempest hath pass'd.
Oh, I'm Prince of the Storm-of the Air-of the Cloud,
I strike the tall rock that doth ages defy,
And lo! in an instant 'tis shiver'd and bowed
For the Lanceman of Death, the red Lightning am I!
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