Poems (Campbell)/Orlando
ORLANDO.
High on a rock whose rugged brow
Far o'er the murm'ring sea-wave hung,
Orlando sat, the child of woe!
And thus the dying mourner sung—
His humble harp of simplest tone
Lean'd careless on a mossy stone;
The tears of sorrow dimm'd his fading eye,
But pride suppress'd the groan, and hush'd the lab'ring sigh.—
Far o'er the murm'ring sea-wave hung,
Orlando sat, the child of woe!
And thus the dying mourner sung—
His humble harp of simplest tone
Lean'd careless on a mossy stone;
The tears of sorrow dimm'd his fading eye,
But pride suppress'd the groan, and hush'd the lab'ring sigh.—
"Go, sleep in silence evermore,
Sweet solace thou, my hapless lyre!
Go, moulder on the storm-beat shore,
And bid thy ev'ry note expire:
Oh! I have woo'd the world too long,
And tamely bow'd to many a wrong;
Curb'd the indignant spirit in my breast,
And stoop'd degenerate down to folly's gilded crest.
Sweet solace thou, my hapless lyre!
Go, moulder on the storm-beat shore,
And bid thy ev'ry note expire:
Oh! I have woo'd the world too long,
And tamely bow'd to many a wrong;
Curb'd the indignant spirit in my breast,
And stoop'd degenerate down to folly's gilded crest.
Too long has fancy lov'd to dream
That hearts were warm, and friends were true;
'Twere better trust the fickle gleam
Of sunshine on the billows blue,
Than hope on earthly soil to find
The nobler virtues of the mind;
For sordid int'rest warps the love of truth,
Alike in frigid age and tender blooming youth.
That hearts were warm, and friends were true;
'Twere better trust the fickle gleam
Of sunshine on the billows blue,
Than hope on earthly soil to find
The nobler virtues of the mind;
For sordid int'rest warps the love of truth,
Alike in frigid age and tender blooming youth.
One miser thirst pervades the whole,
Unheedful of another's care;
One narrow selfishness of soul
That blunts each softer passion there.—
But sleep. my harp! for ever rest:
The sun is trembling in the west;
And ere that sun illumes to-morrow's sky,
Cold on the winds of morn shall breathe my latest sigh."
Unheedful of another's care;
One narrow selfishness of soul
That blunts each softer passion there.—
But sleep. my harp! for ever rest:
The sun is trembling in the west;
And ere that sun illumes to-morrow's sky,
Cold on the winds of morn shall breathe my latest sigh."
In vain the tears of pity flow
For him who pour'd the pensive lay;
From toil escap'd, and want, and woe,
In yon bright heav'n's eternal day
Orlando lives;—by the rude stone
His once lov'd harp is careless thrown;
Yet oft responsive, as the breezes fly,
The trembling strings awake their mournful melody.
For him who pour'd the pensive lay;
From toil escap'd, and want, and woe,
In yon bright heav'n's eternal day
Orlando lives;—by the rude stone
His once lov'd harp is careless thrown;
Yet oft responsive, as the breezes fly,
The trembling strings awake their mournful melody.
And oft the sea-boy's list'ning ear
Doth catch the wild and plaintive sound,
As sails the lonely vessel near,
At midnight, when the waves around
Are hush'd, and Cynthia's placid beam
Slumbers along the level stream;
Upward he looks with wond'ring eye,
And thinks some spirit of the sky
Steals o'er the tranquil bosom of the deep,
And sings their solemn dirge that in the ocean sleep.
Doth catch the wild and plaintive sound,
As sails the lonely vessel near,
At midnight, when the waves around
Are hush'd, and Cynthia's placid beam
Slumbers along the level stream;
Upward he looks with wond'ring eye,
And thinks some spirit of the sky
Steals o'er the tranquil bosom of the deep,
And sings their solemn dirge that in the ocean sleep.