Poems and Essays By the late William Caldwell Roscoe. (Edited with a Prefatory Memoir, by his Brother-in-law, Richard Holt Hutton) |
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 | Poems and Essays |  |
43
SONG.
Turn hither, turn your widely-wandering eyes,
All Love's true lieges;
Look, to this child your winged monarch flies,
And all old faith reneges.
“We come! we come!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
All Love's true lieges;
Look, to this child your winged monarch flies,
And all old faith reneges.
“We come! we come!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
These are not golden clouds that hang i' th' air,
But mortal tresses,
Which, with a fondling and delicious care,
Love's wing caresses.
“We see! we see!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
But mortal tresses,
Which, with a fondling and delicious care,
Love's wing caresses.
“We see! we see!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
These are her eyes whereat ye wondering gaze,
Not stars down charmed
Through the blue night-air. Mounted on their rays,
Look, Love stands armed!
“We fear! we fear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Not stars down charmed
Through the blue night-air. Mounted on their rays,
Look, Love stands armed!
“We fear! we fear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
44
This, not that winter rosebud for the which
Young Beauty grew sick;
'Tis but her mouth and small lips rosy rich:
These make Love's music.
“We hear! we hear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Young Beauty grew sick;
'Tis but her mouth and small lips rosy rich:
These make Love's music.
“We hear! we hear!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
This is her brow, not fairy-carved stone,
By chaste thoughts owned,
Canopied o'er by shining hair alone;
Here Love sits throned.
“We bow! we bow!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
By chaste thoughts owned,
Canopied o'er by shining hair alone;
Here Love sits throned.
“We bow! we bow!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
Lo, where she stands in presence most complete,
A child, yet queenly!
Here turn your eyes, and this bright infant greet,
Love loves supremely.
“We bend! we bend!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
A child, yet queenly!
Here turn your eyes, and this bright infant greet,
Love loves supremely.
“We bend! we bend!
This is no common child, or earth-born infant only,
But stol'n from Fairy-land!”
Oh, no! oh, no!
December 1846.
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