Lesson 69: Genevra, or the Spring Lock
In searching the relics of olden time,
I have found a subject for modern rhyme.
The story is one which I wish to tell,
Of a sad mishap which once befell
A maiden fair, in days of old,
In times of knights and barons bold.
This lady fair, on her wedding night,
Had decked herself in raiment white,
That she might stand before the priest,
And marry the man whom she loved best.
The hour had come, when friends and all
Had gathered within the castle hall.
The hearth did blaze and the lamps did shine,
And festoons and flowers their charms combine.
O 't is pleasant to think of the happy throng,
Which moved with grace, those halls along.
There were rustling silks and nodding plumes;
Ladies and knights, and gay-clad grooms.
And some did smile, and some did stare,
As, trembling, advanced the maiden fair;
And by her side, a youthful band,
And the bridegroom tall, who held her hand.
And now, hushed is the sound of voice and foot,
And all gaze, and all are mute
As the holy priest did raise his voice,
And, addressing the man and the bride of his choice,
Did charge them both, in the sight of God.
To join their hands, and plight their word
To cherish, to honor, and each befriend,
With mutual love, till life shall end.
The words are said; the prayer is o'er,
And all on the bride their blessings pour,
And, gathering round, they eagerly seek,
T' imprint a kiss on her blushing cheek !
O ! who more happy ! who could share
A heartier greeting than this young pair!
Then, out pealed the laugh, and round pass'd the wine,
And the organ's note and the dance combine
To add their charms to the brilliant sight,
Which graced the old hall on that wedding night.
At length, when music and dance had ceased,
And they had eaten the marriage feast,
A contest brisk, but kind arose,
How they should, now, the evening close--
Whether with mask, or play, or song,
They still might yet their mirth prolong.
And various plans were then proposed,
And some are applauded, and some opposed,
When at last the bride, in mirthful freak,
Arose and cried, "Let us hide and seek."
Her word was law, and one and all,
Arrange themselves around the hall;
And some are bandag'd, while the rest depart,
With noiseless tread, to do their part;
Creeping about, with silent pace,
Till each had found a hiding place.
Then sallied forth, the seekers bold,
To rouse each lurker from his secret hold.
And now, what mirth and shouts abound;
And all are searched, and all are found.
And are all found? "O no! O no!
The bride! the bride! where did she go?"
No one has seen her; no one knew
The place where she lay concealed from view.
The hall is searched, and the presses round,
And no where yet can the bride be found;
And the bridegroom trembl'd, and his cheek grew pale,
And the stoutest heart began to fail;
And all is alarm, where late rang loud
The merry peal from that gay crowd.
And still a hope did some possess,
That she might yet herself confess,
And, bursting forth from her snug retreat,
With a bound and a laugh, her friends would greet.
But yet the search goes briskly on
From the castle top to the deep donjon,
And press, and closet, and secret door
Are searched again, as they were before;
And some go forth, and loudly call;
And some descend to the servant's hall;
And the garden is search'd, and the forest round,
But no trace is seen--no bride is found.
And the bridegroom wail'd, and tore his hair,
As he sallied forth in the midnight air,
And through the forest began to roam,
And cried full oft, "O my bride! come home!"
But no voice answered--no sound is heard
Save the distant cry of the lowing herd,
Or his own lone voice, on the air so still,
As it echoed back from the distant hill.
O! who can tell, or what pen describe
The midnight search for that missing bride!
But all was in vain, and the morning came,
And men still searched, but searched in vain;
And the bridegroom now, to madness driven,
Bemoans his fate, and curses heaven;
And mounting his steed, he rushes forth,
And, wandering far from home and hearth,
He sought the battle; and fighting, fell
'Mid the turbann'd ranks of the Infidel.
But the doating father, O who can describe
The sadder woes which him betide?
For, left alone in the midst of life,
Bereft, long since, of son and wife,
His brain is crazed, and roaming wild,
He enquir'd of all for his missing child.
With bending form and streaming hair,
He asks of all for his daughter fair.
With tottering step, and body bent,
And eye that peer'd with keen intent,
For many a long and weary year,
He roam'd the country far and near--
The wandering father--the maniac old--
And the touching story, to all he told,
Of his lovely daughter, snatch'd from sight
'Mid the mirth and glee of her bridal night.
And still he wander'd, and still he cried
For his daughter fair--till at last he died!
And now, men ceas'd to feel or care
For the maniac sire, or his daughter fair.
Both are forgotten, and rolling years
Had inspired new hopes, and begot new fears--
Like the rolling sea, which covers o'er
The names that are left on its sandy shore.
And that old hall, with its broad, green lands
Has pass'd, long since, into strangers' hands,
And those new owners, at last, conspire
To raise their hall, with its castle, higher.
Presses and doors are whirl'd around,
And rubbish is tumbled to the ground,
When a mouldering chest, which worms efface,
Is torn away from its hiding place.
The chest breaks open, and there appears
Something which tells of by bygone years--
A golden clasp, and an emerald stone;
A locket of hair, and a human bone;
A necklace of pearl, all cover'd with mould:
And a wedding ring, and a string of gold!
And a name was on it--the name of one
That, once, in those halls of fashion shone--
"Genevra"--the name of the long lost bride--
Alas! it was here that she came to hide.
On her wedding night, in that fatal play,
Here had she stored herself away--
In this lone chest, with its secret spring--
Little she knew of its fastening.
Alas for her! none came to save,
And her hiding place became her grave!