 | Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan |  |
18
AT ERCILDOUNE.
“Love, how long wilt thou delay?”
Sighing saith True Thomas;
Leans his face, grown old and grey,
To the window glass—
Holds his burning eyelids so
To allay their smart.
“Love,” he says, “the hours go slow,
Break in twain my heart.”
Sighing saith True Thomas;
Leans his face, grown old and grey,
To the window glass—
Holds his burning eyelids so
To allay their smart.
“Love,” he says, “the hours go slow,
Break in twain my heart.”
Peace falls on the little town
As on a soul shriven;
A large moon is gazing down
From a speckless heaven.
All the village sleeping sweet
Till the cock shall crow,
But the Rhymer's weary feet
Travel to and fro.
As on a soul shriven;
A large moon is gazing down
From a speckless heaven.
All the village sleeping sweet
Till the cock shall crow,
But the Rhymer's weary feet
Travel to and fro.
Sometimes down the corridors
Comes the White Lady;
Stiff silks rustle on the floors,
Little heed takes he;
Fall her ghostly tears like rain
With a dreary sound;
Heart s blood drops and makes no stain
On the snowy ground.
Comes the White Lady;
Stiff silks rustle on the floors,
Little heed takes he;
19
With a dreary sound;
Heart s blood drops and makes no stain
On the snowy ground.
Other men are sleeping well
In their chambers white;
His old pain intolerable
Bids him watch all night
With such watchers from the dead—
Pain that takes his breath;
Yesterday a young maid said
He was old as death.
In their chambers white;
His old pain intolerable
Bids him watch all night
With such watchers from the dead—
Pain that takes his breath;
Yesterday a young maid said
He was old as death.
Ah, in his love's fairy-land,
Clad in grass-green silk,
With the king's ring on his hand,
Steed as white as milk,
When his love-locks lit the wind,
And he laughed in mirth,
Never his equal might be found
On this labouring earth!
Clad in grass-green silk,
With the king's ring on his hand,
Steed as white as milk,
When his love-locks lit the wind,
And he laughed in mirth,
Never his equal might be found
On this labouring earth!
Old as death, yet not to die!
Would that he might see
Hart and hind come pacing by
From the Eildon tree,
With their large eyes full of light,
And their coats of snow!
When this thing shall greet his sight
He shall surely go.
Would that he might see
Hart and hind come pacing by
From the Eildon tree,
20
And their coats of snow!
When this thing shall greet his sight
He shall surely go.
But so long he keeps his watch
Hope may well grow dim;
Every wind that lifts his latch
Seems a call to him
Every cry of dreaming dove
In the woodlands dumb
Seems the sweet voice of his love
Calling him to come.
Hope may well grow dim;
Every wind that lifts his latch
Seems a call to him
Every cry of dreaming dove
In the woodlands dumb
Seems the sweet voice of his love
Calling him to come.
Old and cold, and cold and old,
Oh, that he might see
Hart and hind with shoes of gold
From the Eildon tree;
Hart and hind with message kind
Long, long are ye tarrying;
Winter waileth in the wind,
Far away is spring.
Oh, that he might see
Hart and hind with shoes of gold
From the Eildon tree;
Hart and hind with message kind
Long, long are ye tarrying;
Winter waileth in the wind,
Far away is spring.
| Ballads and Lyrics by Katharine Tynan | |