 | Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy |  |
80
The Wandering Voice.
They hear it in the sunless dale,
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
They hear it,—going from the fields
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
It moans upon the wind No more
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
He rides down by the foaming linn—
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
81
He lifts the revel-cup at night—
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
His comrades feast within the room,
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
No more in sunless dells, or high
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
A shadowy shape is seen to stand
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
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