CAROLINE NORTON. So, till the latest joins the happy Meet; And well she wears such mantle: swift her horse, Disturbs that line of beauty as she goes: She wears her robe as some fair sloop her sails, The fair folds falling smooth as when she went; "FLY, fly, my dove, to my own true love, And bear him this letter from me; And let thy flight, on its path of light, Like the course of the comets be! ROBERT BELL. "Heed not the rain, should it chance to stain But swiftly fly through the liquid sky, "In the solitude of Ardennes' wood Is my falconer to be seen; And do not forget that his plume is jet, "His scarf is tinged with gold, and fringed And a true lover's knot is curiously wrought "A hair knot too, of the sunniest hue, You'll know the braid by a silken thread, "And on thy wing take this golden ring, A mark of thy lady's love— My falconer will see that thou comest from me, When he looks on this ring, my dove! "Fly, fly, my dove, to my own true love, Let thy wings be speed, for 'tis lady's need Swift, swift the dove flew, as the flashes do His momently place you could not trace, THE MESSENGER DOVE. On, on he flew, the elements through Of cold and of sunshine, Nor felt the blast on his wings as he past, Through clouds of fire, still higher and higher, His course he did pursue; And through floating gold, in the sun's deep hold, That fearless messenger flew. A speck in the air-his plumage fair Was melted to a ray And the glancing light on his ring was bright And in his turning that bright ring's burning You could not gaze on its fairy blaze And on he flew, and well he knew Where his resting place should be; Though the earth to him was far and dim, Yet the forest was plain to see. And a hawk flew by, but he carefully Avoided the bird of prey— And he fluttered his wing, that the sunbright ring Might scare him with its ray. And the hawk's wild scream, as the sudden gleam Flashed on his dazzled sight, Was like the cry of agony From a wreck on a starless night. ROBERT BELL. The dove flies on-- his errand is done; He nears the wood at last; And the glorious sun and the clouds of dun And a falconer stood in Ardennes' wood, Of gallant mien and air; He was bold and free, and his courtesy Was a jewel of value rare. His plume was jet, and its roots were set And a true-love knot on his scarf was wrought, And a sunny braid, and a silken thread, And a motto and a crest, As tokens inwove of a lady's love, Were hung on that falconer's breast. Now haste thy flight to that gallant knight, For the knight doth play with his arrows to-day, With his arrows he plays through the forest's maze, And the shafts fly rapidly; And his watchful eye is fixed on high, And rests, fair dove, on thee. Stay, stay thy hand, at thy lady's command, Sir knight, sir knight, that bird of light By thy lady was plumed and blest. |