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 |  |
He leapt the moat, the portal past,
He flung him from his horse in haste,
And in the hall
He met her! but how pale and wan!—
He started back, as she upon
His neck would fall;
He started back,—for by her side
(O blessed vision!) he espied
A thing divine,—
Poor Christabel was lean and white,
But oh, how soft, and fair, and bright,
Was Geraldine!
Fairer and brighter, as he gazes
All celestial beauty blazes
From those glorious eyes,
And Amador no more can brook
The jealous air and peevish look
That in the other lies!
Alas, for wasting Christabel,
Alas, for stricken Christabel,—
How had she long'd to see this day,
And now her all is dash'd away!
How many slow sad years, poor maid,
Had she for this day wept and pray'd,
And now the bitterest tears destroy
That honied hope of cherish'd joy,
For he hath ceased,—O withering thought,
With burning anguish fully fraught,—
To love his Christabel!
Her full heart bursts, and she doth fall
Unheeded in her father's hall,
And, oh, the heaviest stroke of all,
By him she loves so well.
O save her, Mary Mother, save!
Let not the damnèd sorceress have
Her evil will;
O save thine own sweet Christabel,
Thy saint, thine innocent Christabel,
And guard her still!
He flung him from his horse in haste,
And in the hall
He met her! but how pale and wan!—
He started back, as she upon
His neck would fall;
He started back,—for by her side
(O blessed vision!) he espied
328
Poor Christabel was lean and white,
But oh, how soft, and fair, and bright,
Was Geraldine!
Fairer and brighter, as he gazes
All celestial beauty blazes
From those glorious eyes,
And Amador no more can brook
The jealous air and peevish look
That in the other lies!
Alas, for wasting Christabel,
Alas, for stricken Christabel,—
How had she long'd to see this day,
And now her all is dash'd away!
How many slow sad years, poor maid,
Had she for this day wept and pray'd,
And now the bitterest tears destroy
That honied hope of cherish'd joy,
For he hath ceased,—O withering thought,
With burning anguish fully fraught,—
To love his Christabel!
Her full heart bursts, and she doth fall
Unheeded in her father's hall,
And, oh, the heaviest stroke of all,
By him she loves so well.
O save her, Mary Mother, save!
Let not the damnèd sorceress have
Her evil will;
O save thine own sweet Christabel,
Thy saint, thine innocent Christabel,
And guard her still!
| Ballads for the Times | |