Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The tapestry waves in the breeze of the night,
And the figures it bears, in the pale moonlight,
Seem frowning upon me,—I tremble with fear.
Dim shadows I see, and low murmurs I hear!
My lamp is expiring—Oh, speed, my love, speed!
I listen in vain for the tramp of his steed.

II

Hark! hark! 'tis the bell of the castle tolls One,
The silence how deep now the echoes are gone!
And, hush! in the gallery, near and more near,
A slow hollow footstep distinctly I hear.
My lamp is expiring—Oh, speed, my love, speed!
I listen in vain for the tramp of his steed.

III

The door of my chamber wide open is thrown,
A figure stands there like a statue of stone:
It raises its helmet—I laugh at my fear,
'Tis my lover I view—'tis my lover I hear!
My lamp's fading glimmer no longer I heed,
I listen no more for the tramp of his steed.

172

I'VE HEARD MY OWN DEAR MOTHER SING.

I

I've heard my own dear mother sing a song of other times;
'Twas one she valued more than all her store of ballad rhymes.
The theme was one that's often sung—the faithlessness of man;
I cannot tell the story now, but thus the burden ran:
Beware, beware, O ladies fair,
Of man's deceit!—beware.

II

I wonder'd why my mother wept, for then she still was young;
Yet, with a touching earnestness, these warning lines she sung:
I used to think, “Man may be false, but what is that to us?”
Yet, when I said, “Come sing to me,” her burden still ran thus;
Beware, beware, O ladies fair,
Of man's deceit!—beware.

III

I never more shall hear that song from those dear lips again,
But in my mind remember'd still those warning words remain.
I thought not of them when I heard a lover's ardent vow;
But, oh! my mother! feelingly I sing that burden now:
Beware, beware, O ladies fair,
Of man's deceit!—beware.

L'ESPERANCE.

I

Who gazes so long on each glittering light
That beams from the walls of yon castle to-night:
Its lord, if he knew that Sir Leon is near,
Would watch his fair child with suspicion and fear.

173

She smiles at the feast where gay nobles are met,
But she thinks of the knight she was told to forget.
Sir Leon be bold, never think of mischance,
Trust to honour and truth, L'Espérance, L'Espérance!

II

The minstrels come forth, and light measures they play,
Each guest wears a mask and fantastic array;
The peasant and prince meet to laugh and to jest,
And the lord of the east woes the lass of the west.
A pilgrim in grey to fair Emmeline kneels,
Whose mask scarcely veils the delight that she feels.
Sir Leon be bold, lead her forth to the dance,
Trust to honour and truth, L'Espérance, L'Espérance!

III

The morning is come, and with helm, spear, and shield,
The nobles are seen riding forth to the field;
The knight who prevails with his lance and his sword,
Is to marry the child of the castle's proud lord.
Each rival o'erthrown on the earth fainting lies,
While a stranger kneels down for the conqueror's prize;
Sir Leon is bold, and he wields a good lance,
Here's to honour and truth, L'Espérance, L'Espérance!

GUESS THE NAME.

I

I have drain'd the cup they brought me
In the banquet hall of mirth;
I have breath'd the name they taught me
As the dearest name on earth;
But in secret I abhor it,
Such a pledge would chill the wine,
I've a health far dearer for it;
Guess the name—dear love, 'tis thine!

174

II

I have been where bright eyes glancing,
Shamed the gems that shone around;
Where the young and gay were dancing
To the lute's melodious sound;
But my constant heart still shrinking
From the charms they deemed divine,
Of a dearer name was thinking;
Guess that name—dear love, 'tis thine!

III

I have sought the distant places
Fam'd for beauty's 'witching glance,
From Circassia's languid graces
To the laughing dames of France:
But my thoughts still homeward flying
To seek out their chosen shrine,
For a dearer name were sighing;
Guess the name—dear love, 'twas thine!

I WORE THE ROBES OF A NOBLE BRIDE.

I

I wore the robes of a noble bride,
And a white wreath bound my hair;
I knelt by my own true lover's side,
And the priest was standing there;
But the ring fell from my trembling hand,
And the bridegroom himself was dumb,
For we heard the tramp of a warlike band,
And the sound of a distant drum.

II

Oh! little we thought of the bridal feast,
I wept on my bridal day;
The gates were closed, and every guest
Turn'd mournfully away:

175

Despair's unseen resistless wand
My senses did benumb;
And I heard the tramp of a warlike band,
And the sound of a distant drum.

III

My husband kissed my pallid cheek,
And said he would return.
I tried to smile—I could not speak,
My heart was too forlorn.
I know he fell in a foreign land,
Though they say that he soon will come,
For I hear no tramp of a warlike band,
And no sound of a distant drum.

TELL ME THAT HE LIVES.

I

Tell me that he lives and I'll smile again,
Though his limbs be gall'd by a tyrant's chain,
Time may burst the link, captives may go free,
Tell me that he lives and give life to me.
Wounded he may pine in a foreign land,
And his sword may fall from his nerveless hand;
He may live to wear Fame's unfading wreath,
Oh! my constant heart could not bear his death.

II

Tell me that he lives; I can bear to know
He is false to me—say if it be so?
Not one selfish thought lingers in my breast;
Tell me that he lives, I'll endure the rest.
Pallid is my cheek and my eye is dim,
He would scarcely know her who weeps for him;
He may live to wear Fame's unfading wreath,
Oh! my constant heart could not bear his death.

176

THOSE JOYOUS VILLAGE BELLS.

I

Oh! I cannot bear the sound
Of those joyous village bells.
Mournful music should be found
In the halls where sorrow dwells.
Once for me those bells were rung,
And the bridal song was sung;
Wretched is the bride who hears
Sounds like those with tears.

II

Now I see the laughing train,
Youths and maidens dancing forth;
I'll not look on them again,
Eyes like mine would mar their mirth.
Once for me those bells were rung,
And the bridal song was sung;
Wretched is the bride who hears
Sounds like those with tears.

COME DECK ME FOR THE DANCE AGAIN.

I

Come deck me for the dance again,
For I will be the brightest there;
Bring silken robe and jewell'd chain,
And blooming roses for my hair.
The world again shall deem me gay,
My sombre weeds aside are thrown;
You bid me smile—and I obey,
But solitude is still my own.

177

II

I know my feelings must be blamed
By those who never felt like me;
They think a moment may be named,
When grief shall set the mourner free;
The harp, so long unstrung, they say,
Should then resume its wonted tone.
You bid me smile, and I obey,
But solitude is still my own.

THINK NOT OF ME, POOR PAGE.

I

My page, look not wistfully
Upon thy lady's cheek,
For she can read in thy moist eye
The grief thou fain wouldst speak.
Thy kindness but augments the pain
It offers to assuage;
Go, seek thy sunny sports again,
Think not of me, poor page.

II

My sadness will but make thee weep;
Thou'lt win no smile from me;
So young a plant 'twere sin to keep
Beneath woe's poison tree.
I love thee, but I send thee forth
A captive from the cage.
I have no other friend on earth,
But heed not that, poor page.

III

And thou dost weep, remembering
How gay I us'd to be;
Weep not, for nothing now can bring
A sadder change to me.

178

Bow'd down in youth, I do not fear
The darkest frowns of age.
Go hence, I cannot shed a tear;
Think not of me, poor page.

IT WAS A DREAM.

I

It was a dream of perfect bliss
Too beautiful to last;
I seemed to welcome back again
The bright days of the past.
I was a boy—my mimic ship
Sail'd down the village stream,
And I was gay and innocent—
But, ah! it was a dream.

II

And soon I left the childish toy,
For those of manhood's choice;
The beauty of a woman's form,
The sweetness of her voice.
I thought she gave me blameless love,
The nurseling of esteem,
And that I merited such love—
But, ah! it was a dream.

III

I saw my falsehood wound her heart,
I saw her cheek grow pale;
But o'er her fate the vision threw
A bright delusive veil.
I thought she lived, and that I saw
Our bridal torches gleam;
And I was happy with my bride—
But ah! it was a dream.

179

I WISH I COULD REMEMBER.

I

I wish I could remember
The melody she sung;
It flits across my memory,
It trembles on my tongue.
Again those sweet notes haunt me,
In accents like her own!
But ere I can connect them
Those few wild notes are flown.

II

'Tis like a dreamer waking
From slumbers that are blest;
Fair visions have been hovering
Around his place of rest.
The forms that smiled upon him,
Then vanish one by one;
In vain he would recall them,
'Tis day—and they are gone.

III

Yet often do I fancy
I have the air and words;
I hasten to my harp again,
And trifle with its chords.
Some notes recur, but with them
Come thoughts of other years;
The air is gone, it owns not
Companionship with tears.

180

PEASANTS SAY MY HOME IS HAUNTED.

I

Peasants say my home is haunted
By a phantom cloth'd in white;
And unearthly strains are chaunted
In my halls at dead of night.
But the tale is idly spoken,
I behold no shadowy guest;
Though, alas! my sleep is broken
By remorse that cannot rest.

II

If, indeed, the dead have power
To descend from realms above;
Come to me at that dark hour,
Sainted spirit of my love!
Come! I will not shrink with terror
From thy glance—reveng'd thou art;
Thou shall see the slave of error
Dying of a broken heart.

III

Come! I think that it would cheer me,
Hopeless as my soul hath been,
To behold thee hover near me,
Pointing to a brighter scene.
Yes,—I feel by thee forgiven
These despairing pangs would cease;
I may dare look up to heaven,
And, though guilty, die in peace!