Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/146

142 Azlea. (Bending over Alvernon.)

There's breath upon his lips, and on his cheek

A faint and trembling color. His dark hair

Is heavy yet, and cold with the sea-brine,

And his high, rounded forehead, has a gash

Cut by the cruel rocks. I'll chafe his brow;

He soon must waken from this deathlike sleep.

Alvernon. (Unclosing his eyes.)

I must have dreamed, or else I now do dream:

I thought that in the tempest all were lost,

And the cold waves closed round my shuddering form,

But all was tumult, night, and thundering,

And I know not what happened. Where am I?

This is a pleasant place, and thou art young

And very beautiful; how came I here?

Azlea. Thou hast been ill, and I must bid thee rest;

I'll talk to thee when thou art somewhat stronger.

Now close thine eyes, and I will bring thee wine,

Which thou must first partake, then sleep again;

I'll sing some low, soft melody to lull

Your senses to repose, when I return.

Alver. Who is this creature of such wondrous beauty?

Her voice is plaintive music in itself;

And she will sing to me—how innocent!

'Tis sweet to have such minister to sooth

The body's stinging pains; but where am I,

And who is she; alike mysterious?

Re-enter with wine and fruits.

Azlea. I have brought that which will revive your strength.

Alver. I could now sleep; I feel a languor stealing

Over my senses like a pleasant balm.

If now thou'lt sing for me I shall be grateful,

And see thee in my dreams.