The Harp of Erin :: :: University of Virginia Library

The days are past, when o'er each haunted room
The good priest sprinkled drops of holy dew;
Scared the fell night hag from her with'ring gloom,
And drest with sacred sprays each decent pew.
No lonely goblin roams by blasted yew,
Or blue-rob'd fiend confin'd by cruel doom;
The age of spirits is departed long;
None strew with rosemary the virgin-tomb;
No shrill chains clank the cloister'd cells among,
Yet feel their force awhile, and listen to my song.

In faery-lond did dwell a valiant prince;
Majestic manly beauty cloath'd his face,
And oft he glow'd with battle's warmth intense;
Of chivalry, the honour, and the grace;
But still maintain'd his country in sweet peace:
Wisdom was his, and pow'r, and wit, and sense.

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Yet all the little tyrant boy o'erthrew;
A damsel fair had cast a vapour dense
O'er his dim eyes, and often did he rue
The pleasing pain, I wot, but she was lovely-true.

Her wavy tresses shone like floating gold;
Her eyes eclipsed the lightning of the mine;
Her cheeks Love's own ambrosial bloom did hold;
Her bosom breath'd an incense full divine;
Her tender bosom, raptures every shrine,
None could, without cntranced thoughts, behold;
Her front was mildness, dignity her gait;
Her garment fell in many an easy fold;
Pure chaplets deck'd her hair, all rifled late;
Ah! that this beauteous dear should find the wrath of fate.

Long had they woo'd with amorous interchange,
And studied all the movements of the heart;
At last (what sure will seem to moderns strange)
Each felt the influence of the golden dart,
And the bland ecstacy of soft revenge;
Each did to each the pensive heat impart,
And spread the sweet contagion to the breast;
Soon shall they clasp, with dear delicious art;

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Soon shall they nectars taste supremely blest,
And tread the carpet-ground in snowy vestment drest.

Hark! hark! the merry minstrel-tribe proclaim,
The lofty song, in garb (like Summer's) clad;
Some join the rattling joust, the tilting game;
Some the quick morrice-dance, for none are sad,
But bidding farewell care, like wights stark mad.
Next, blowing from their nostrils living flame,
Richly caparison'd the chargers came;
Prauncing right prond, the costly crescents gleam
Around their rainbow-necks!—no sound is dumb,
All rattling; tabor, flute, fife, trumpet, cymbal, drum.

And now the hoary man of God has ty'd
The gordian knot (oh prodigy of hate)!
The princess seem'd a fair hind by his side;—
Then leap'd, with wond'rous vault, the minster-gate.
Long did Serapin mourn his way ward fate;
Till, bent with eld, a witching beldame cry'd,
“Sir knight, thy dame is chang'd by spiteful fay,
“A victim to the elfin's rival pride;
“Nathless, go hunt, without stop or stay,
“And kill your best belov'd on your auspicious way.”

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With speed he went, and wound the bugle loud,
Making faint Echo burst her chrystal cell;
Out leap'd a fair hind from the dappled crowd;
Out leap'd a fair hind, and he knew her well:
Full quick he shot (his jav'lin did excel,)
And stretch'd her panting by the greenwood shroud:
Then o'er her pour'd the witch three potent charms;
Incontinent, she felt this life's alarms,
And leap'd, perfection all, to glad Serapin's arms.