 | Poems |  |
22
MADRIGAL.
[Oft on a Summer's eve, with vagrant feet]
Oft on a Summer's eve, with vagrant feet,
When the sun mildly glimmer'd through the trees,
I've sought some lonely, cooling, calm retreat,
To taste the freshness of the wandering breeze.
There, on a bank with violets o'ergrown,
My languid limbs in gladness I have thrown,
And, tasting all the luxury of rest,
Have mus'd on that my fancy lov'd the best;
Lull'd all the while by rills, that softly wept,
And hum of rural sounds, till I have slept.
When the sun mildly glimmer'd through the trees,
I've sought some lonely, cooling, calm retreat,
To taste the freshness of the wandering breeze.
There, on a bank with violets o'ergrown,
My languid limbs in gladness I have thrown,
And, tasting all the luxury of rest,
Have mus'd on that my fancy lov'd the best;
Lull'd all the while by rills, that softly wept,
And hum of rural sounds, till I have slept.
Nor have I woke, till Philomel's sad tune
Unlock'd each sense, when, starting, I have found
Night's darkest clouds bedimming the pale moon,
And shade and silence stealing all around.
Then slowly have I sought my ancient tower,
And, all enrapt, through midnight's lonely hour,
Have giv'n my every thought to Heaven above,
And its divinest work, my “Ladye Love.”
Unlock'd each sense, when, starting, I have found
Night's darkest clouds bedimming the pale moon,
And shade and silence stealing all around.
Then slowly have I sought my ancient tower,
And, all enrapt, through midnight's lonely hour,
Have giv'n my every thought to Heaven above,
And its divinest work, my “Ladye Love.”
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