Ballads for the Times (Now first collected,) Geraldine, A Modern Pyramid, Bartenus, A Thousand Lines, and other poems. By Martin F. Tupper. A new Edition, enlarged and revised |
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 | Ballads for the Times |  |
It is done, it is done, thy cause is won!
Quoth Ryxa the Hag to Geraldine;
Thus have I prest my seal on thy breast,
Twelve circling scales from a dragon's crest,
And still thy bosom and half thy side
Must shrivel and shrink at eventide,
And still, as every Sabbath breaks,
Thy large dark eyes must blink as a snake's.
Now, for mine aid:—De Vaux will come
To lead his seeming daughter home,
Therefore I fit thee a shape and a face
Differing, yet of twin-born grace,
That all who see thee may fall down
Heart-worshippers before thy throne,
Forgetting in that vision sweet
Thy former tale of dull deceit,
And, tranced in deep oblivious joy,
Bask in bliss without alloy:
He too, thou lovest, in thine arms
Shall grace the triumph of thy charms,
While the thirst of rage thou satest
In the woes of her thou hatest.
Yet, daughter, hark! my warning mark!
Hallow'd deed, or word, or thought,
Is with deadliest peril fraught;
And if, where true lovers meet
Thou hearest hymning wild and sweet,
O stop thine ears, lest all be marr'd,—
Beware, beware of holy bard!
For that the power of hymn and harp
Thine innermost being shall wither and warp,
And the same hour they touch thine ears,
A serpent thou art for a thousand years.
Quoth Ryxa the Hag to Geraldine;
Thus have I prest my seal on thy breast,
Twelve circling scales from a dragon's crest,
And still thy bosom and half thy side
Must shrivel and shrink at eventide,
And still, as every Sabbath breaks,
Thy large dark eyes must blink as a snake's.
Now, for mine aid:—De Vaux will come
To lead his seeming daughter home,
Therefore I fit thee a shape and a face
Differing, yet of twin-born grace,
That all who see thee may fall down
Heart-worshippers before thy throne,
Forgetting in that vision sweet
Thy former tale of dull deceit,
And, tranced in deep oblivious joy,
Bask in bliss without alloy:
He too, thou lovest, in thine arms
Shall grace the triumph of thy charms,
While the thirst of rage thou satest
In the woes of her thou hatest.
Yet, daughter, hark! my warning mark!
Hallow'd deed, or word, or thought,
Is with deadliest peril fraught;
And if, where true lovers meet
Thou hearest hymning wild and sweet,
O stop thine ears, lest all be marr'd,—
Beware, beware of holy bard!
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Thine innermost being shall wither and warp,
And the same hour they touch thine ears,
A serpent thou art for a thousand years.
| Ballads for the Times | |