The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1870-03-22
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Written for the Spirit
CLARIBEL.
BY J. Az N.

Fair Claribel sat in leafy bower
On Avon's bank-poetic stream! whose waves,
Whose grassy shores, oft filed the youthful
mind
Of Shakespeare with the soul Of song, or clothed
His massive thoughts in fairy, golden huesl
Lovely she was, as those fair stately danes
Of Shakspeare's song. In her clear, azure eye
There slept soul of love- something beauti
full,
But indescribable, a something sweet
From heaven descended! Her blooming cheek
Was rested on hand as velvet, Soft,
Caressed by silken hair which fell
In golden shower Ger sowny hand and neck.
A witchiug smile illumed her face, and told
With her attitudes unstudied grace,
And istless dreamings Of glorious eyes,
That she was thinking of some sweeter thing
Than the scene of beauty there before bel
spread;
Or thought she of that scene, twas but to call
Before her fancy, those bright hours of JOY,
When young Leander roamed with her th,
banks
Of crystal Avon, when moonlight pale had giver
The landscape charms that lightsoms day hat
not,
And softly told her of his love for her.
Or, few her fancy to the far off land
Where he, a soldier for his country's cause,
Braved dangers, tempests, sorrows, even DEATH
Yes, proud, she painted him the hero bold
Of battles. His manly form and graceful step
She seemed to see as plain as when she last
Had gazed with fearful eyes on him, and sighed
A sad FAREWELL
The sun to blushing western sky had given
The goodnight kiss; the glittering stars peeped
out,
And the silver moon, and all was stili;the night
Brought with it calm and holy thoughts to her
An hour passed on in sweet thoughts OF heI
love-
Passed lightly on. At length the air grew cold
She drew her mantle round her graceful form,
And hastened to her cottage; in her room
She found letter; vast from hims She tore
The seals, and eagerly she read. Her face.
Grew pale. She shrieked with agony, and sfell
They came, who heard the cry, alarmed, and
found
Her lying there, all pale and cold; her hand
Still clutched the letter; some bore her to hel
couch,
Another read the fatal lines. ALAS
Fatal indeed to her young hopes of blissg
Sad news they bore; Leander, young, and brave
And generous, beloved by all, had fallen!
They incurred him and they wept for her. Sc
young,
So lovely, and SO stricken! She rose again:
She roamed about the dear old haunts, WRECK
OF what she had been, yet very lovely STILL
But twas beauty death doth clothe
His victims with; she silent roamed about
The well-known haunts, which he had loved t,
roam,
A fair pale lady, never smiling now,
And yet her grief was silent as the tomb
To which she was fastening. A month passot
And then she died! What once had been 81
fair
Wasu laid to mingle with the cold, cold dust!
Her spirit took its fight to those fair fields,
To gain its God, to seek its love-. The moon
Now looks, sad smiling, on her lone green grav'
In the aowery vale, where many mourning
friends
Laid loves young martyr; DER! her tomb they
strewed
The lily and the rose, to wither there,
Fit emblems of her purity, her beauty,
And her DEATH At eve, the peasant. goes
To shed tear DER that green, lonely grave;
And if stranger pass that way, they tell
The tale of Claribel. Twas thus I heard it
From the simple-minded village sexton.
aWhy tell this tale? tbs oldl' the Cynic cries.
Why tell it? my humble muse is faint, know,
And never can such subject Justice do;
But vet, this tale doth hold the richest tcharms
That ever decked poets thought, or lay.
Had she, the daughter Of the rural haunts,
a stately princess been, whose name was sung
Bynation's tongues, no bitterer tears were shed
And mot meath glaring monument she lies,
Or by gloomy ponp and splendor to the tomb
Was Claribel attended; calmly and sad,
A few poor friends and loving relatives,
Who knew her but to love, and mourned hel
loss,
Laid hor down to rest. Her winding sheet
The summer flowers, her canopy the sky.