When last I the cruel scorn, sang That crazed this bold and lovely knight, And how he roamed the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night; I promised thee a sister tale, Come then, and hear what cruel wrong THE BALLAD OF THE DARK LADIE. A FRAGMENT. BENEATH yon birch with silver bark, And boughs so pendulous and fair, The brook falls scattered down the rock: And all is mossy there! And there upon the moss she sits, The Dark Ladie in silent pain; The heavy tear is in her eye, And drops and swells again. Three times she sends her little page The sun was sloping down the sky, She hears a rustling o'er the brook, She springs, she clasps him round the neck, Her kisses glowing on his cheeks "My friends with rude ungentle words "My Henry, I have given thee much, The Knight made answer to the Maid, "The fairest one shall be my love's, The fairest castle of the nine! Wait only till the stars peep out, The fairest shall be thine "Wait only till the hand of eve Hath wholly closed yon western bars, "The dark? the dark? No! not the dark? The twinkling stars? How, Henry? How? O God! 'twas in the eye of noon He pledged his sacred vow! "And in the eye of noon, my love, Shall lead me from my mother's door, "But first the nodding minstrels go "And then my love and I shall pace, And blushing bridal maids." THE DAY-DREAM. FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE. If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light! And though I weep, yet still around my heart My mouth half open, like a witless man, I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room, All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling- Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father, And yet its own dear baby self far rather! Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm! Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were! 222 SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL. And now when I seemed sure thy face to see, 1798-9. SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL. WRITTEN IN GERMANY. IF I had but two little wings, But thoughts like these are idle things, But in my sleep to you I fly: I'm always with you in my sleep! But then one wakes, and where am I? Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, * See Note. 1798-9. |