The Legend of Genevieve with other tales and poems. By Delta [i.e. David Macbeth Moir] |
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 | The Legend of Genevieve |  |
Farewell! ambition—lofty schemes—
Heroic deeds—and daring dreams!
Farewell! the field of death and doom—
The pealing gun—and waving plume!
Farewell! the grandeur of the great—
The pomp and pageantry of state!
For, climbing, I have mock'd at fall—
Dared everything, and master'd all—
For what?—To find my bosom's pride,
Possessing, was unsatisfied—
Regardless of the past, and still
A slave to stern, regardless will;
'Mid pain and peril, pressing on
From field to field—from throne to throne.
Heroic deeds—and daring dreams!
Farewell! the field of death and doom—
The pealing gun—and waving plume!
Farewell! the grandeur of the great—
The pomp and pageantry of state!
For, climbing, I have mock'd at fall—
Dared everything, and master'd all—
For what?—To find my bosom's pride,
Possessing, was unsatisfied—
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A slave to stern, regardless will;
'Mid pain and peril, pressing on
From field to field—from throne to throne.
From my proud eminence cast down;
Deprived of mine imperial crown;
Torn from the host of hearts away,
Whose swell exulted in my sway,
Here am I captived; I, whose soul
Did scan wide earth from pole to pole,
Disdain'd to rest, and loved to range,
Unsatisfied, in search of change!
Fearless as lions, when they haste
Athwart the long Numidian waste,
Were France's hosts, when I, their lord,
Forth to the battle front did fly,
With ardent soul, and flashing sword,
And cheer'd them on to victory—
Tameless as tempests, and as free,
Kings trembled when they thought of me,
And, in my sovereign nod, did own
The tie by which they held their throne!—
From leaguer'd walls, and tented war,
From courts and capitals afar,
Here am I captived;—round my gate,
Frown precipices desolate;
And nought disturbs the silence, save
The dashing of the far-off wave,
The wild wind's melancholy sigh,
Or sea-bird's shrill and savage cry;
And nought is seen within the dell,
Save, to and fro, the sentinel
Pacing his round,—a sign to me
Of uttermost captivity.
Deprived of mine imperial crown;
Torn from the host of hearts away,
Whose swell exulted in my sway,
Here am I captived; I, whose soul
Did scan wide earth from pole to pole,
Disdain'd to rest, and loved to range,
Unsatisfied, in search of change!
Fearless as lions, when they haste
Athwart the long Numidian waste,
Were France's hosts, when I, their lord,
Forth to the battle front did fly,
With ardent soul, and flashing sword,
And cheer'd them on to victory—
Tameless as tempests, and as free,
Kings trembled when they thought of me,
And, in my sovereign nod, did own
The tie by which they held their throne!—
From leaguer'd walls, and tented war,
From courts and capitals afar,
73
Frown precipices desolate;
And nought disturbs the silence, save
The dashing of the far-off wave,
The wild wind's melancholy sigh,
Or sea-bird's shrill and savage cry;
And nought is seen within the dell,
Save, to and fro, the sentinel
Pacing his round,—a sign to me
Of uttermost captivity.
| The Legend of Genevieve | |