The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Ah princely Haco, woe for thee!
What hopest thou round these towers to see,
Which still thou circlest morn and even,
With cheek and eye upturn'd to heaven;
Or rather, to each casement high
In Selma's towers, for answering eye?
And thou hast seen it, though at more
Than fifty fathoms from the shore:
And who can eye of maiden fair
Read more than half way up the air?
The glance of love, the blushing hue,
Are lost amid the hazy blue:
But other signs—As, snowy veil
Rear'd high aloft like streamer pale;
A helmet waved in queenly hand;
A dazzling glance from gilded brand,
Whose point is northward turned away,
Where Eric's camp like city lay,—
These signals boded nothing good,
And scarce could be misunderstood.
A thousand times Prince Haco bow'd,
And humblest gratitude avow'd;
He kiss'd his hand, then kneel'd profound,
And thrust his sword's point in the ground,
In homage to that virgin queen,
For such he deem'd capricious Wene;
And she it was. But what she knew,
That thus such signals out she threw,
Or if 'twas all a freakish jest,
Nor friend nor foeman ever wist.
What hopest thou round these towers to see,
Which still thou circlest morn and even,
With cheek and eye upturn'd to heaven;
Or rather, to each casement high
In Selma's towers, for answering eye?
And thou hast seen it, though at more
Than fifty fathoms from the shore:
And who can eye of maiden fair
Read more than half way up the air?
The glance of love, the blushing hue,
Are lost amid the hazy blue:
But other signs—As, snowy veil
Rear'd high aloft like streamer pale;
A helmet waved in queenly hand;
A dazzling glance from gilded brand,
Whose point is northward turned away,
Where Eric's camp like city lay,—
These signals boded nothing good,
And scarce could be misunderstood.
A thousand times Prince Haco bow'd,
And humblest gratitude avow'd;
He kiss'd his hand, then kneel'd profound,
And thrust his sword's point in the ground,
In homage to that virgin queen,
For such he deem'd capricious Wene;
And she it was. But what she knew,
That thus such signals out she threw,
Or if 'twas all a freakish jest,
Nor friend nor foeman ever wist.
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