For by the day he lay in languid mood, And night was scarcely more filled up with solitude. Certes, it was right sorrowful to see So very gentle and inspired a child, Wearing away, as so it seemed to be, And going to his grave serene and mild: The warrior's heart, that is so fiery wild, Breaks—and a flood of glory streams around ;— But where youth in its quiet is beguiled To the chill tomb, it doth the gazer wound; For there no beauty is-no breath-no sight-no sound! At night he felt a longing to be thrown Into some forest dun, where trees were thick, And water very cool: to make a throne Of some quaint bank, and in a pleasant trick Of lilies of the water for his head, And ever while his pulse was beating quick With pain, he sweet things of the summer said, And framed this little song upon his midnight bed. O, melon-scented lily! O, water queen of flowers! When shall I see the silver waves, Dancing around thee, like sweet slaves To beauty in its bowers; O, pretty rose autumnal! O, fairy queen of trees! When may I trace thy gentle buds, 1 In their green palaces : When see thy vernal velvet fall, Under thy ruby coronal? The sound of forest music, The water song of streams, But in my fitful dreams, And in my waking weary hours, GENEVIEVE. ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, Are all but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Coleridge. She leant against the armed man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, The songs that make her grieve. I play'd a soft and doleful air, She listen'd with a flitting blush, I told her of the knight that wore I told her how he pined; and ah! She listened with a flitting blush, And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he crossed the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, There came and looked him in the face And that unknowing what he did, And how she wept, and claspt his knees; And how she tended him in vain And ever strove to expiate The score that crazed his brain, And that she nursed him in a cave;. His dying words-but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faultering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with pity ▸ All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve; The music, and the doleful tale, And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long; She wept with pity and delight, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heav'd-she stept aside, She half enclosed me with her arms, She pressed me with a meek, embrace; And bending back her head, look'd up, And gazed upon my face. "Twas partly love and partly fear, I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, My bright and beauteous bride. |