Poems by Robert Nicoll Second edition: with numerous additions, and a memoir of the author |
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A ROMAUNT. |
 | Poems by Robert Nicoll |  |
224
A ROMAUNT.
The evening bell hath the curfew toll'd,
And the cloud of night on the earth hath roll'd;
The sea waves fall on the sandy shore,
Like sullen things, with an angry roar:
'Tis the lonesome, sleeping, midnight hour—
Why beams yon light from the castle tower?
Why tarries that boat on the surfy strand?
And why doth each rower clutch a brand?
And the cloud of night on the earth hath roll'd;
The sea waves fall on the sandy shore,
Like sullen things, with an angry roar:
'Tis the lonesome, sleeping, midnight hour—
Why beams yon light from the castle tower?
Why tarries that boat on the surfy strand?
And why doth each rower clutch a brand?
Two forms appear through the dusky night—
'Tis a rover free and a lady bright:
She hath left her father's castle hall,
His broad fair lands, and his riches all,
The bride of a wanderer wild to be,
And to make her home on the tameless sea:—
Now the boat is launch'd on its ocean way,
And onward it speeds o'er the waters gray.
'Tis a rover free and a lady bright:
She hath left her father's castle hall,
His broad fair lands, and his riches all,
The bride of a wanderer wild to be,
And to make her home on the tameless sea:—
Now the boat is launch'd on its ocean way,
And onward it speeds o'er the waters gray.
The morning is up, but the clouded sun
Throws not a ray on yon castle dun;
And oh! there is weeping and wailing there—
The father's moan and the mother's prayer;
For never again in their home shall be
The lost one, who sails on the foaming sea:—
The flower hath been snapp'd from its parent stem,
And the garden hath lost its brightest gem.
Throws not a ray on yon castle dun;
And oh! there is weeping and wailing there—
The father's moan and the mother's prayer;
For never again in their home shall be
The lost one, who sails on the foaming sea:—
The flower hath been snapp'd from its parent stem,
And the garden hath lost its brightest gem.
225
Now in bright sunshine—now in gloomy shade—
That ship on the deep her home hath made:
She has felt the gales of many a land,
And her prow has look'd on many a strand:
But her hour hath come—the wild winds rave—
There swims on her track a giant wave:
And the rover wild, and his fair ladye,
Are sleeping now in the dark green sea!
That ship on the deep her home hath made:
She has felt the gales of many a land,
And her prow has look'd on many a strand:
But her hour hath come—the wild winds rave—
There swims on her track a giant wave:
And the rover wild, and his fair ladye,
Are sleeping now in the dark green sea!
| Poems by Robert Nicoll | |