Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
II.
Then paddling off with all her might,
Away across the lake she flew,
And left a wake of foam snow-bright,
And broadening ripple glassy-blue;
While, dashing after, less expert
Soon Ranolf finds he must exert
His utmost skill to catch her, too.
But when, though less by skill than strength,
He nears her flying skiff at length—
With nimble paddle, dodging back
She slips off on another tack,
With swiftly-flitting noiseless ease;
As—when some fisher thinks to seize
With gently-dropped and stealthy spear
A flounder, down in shallows clear,
'Mid mottling tufts of dusky weeds
And white sand-patches where it feeds—
The trembling shadow shifts away
Through faintly-shimmering water grey—
'Tis there—and gone—his would-be prey!
So, hovering round with wistful eyes,
While many a feint, to cheat, surprise,
That merry mocker, Ranolf tries,
She, at a little distance staying,
And watchful, with the paddle playing,
No move of his, no glance to miss—
Now darts alert that way, now this;
And at each foiled attempt again
Provokes him in alluring strain:
Away across the lake she flew,
And left a wake of foam snow-bright,
And broadening ripple glassy-blue;
While, dashing after, less expert
Soon Ranolf finds he must exert
His utmost skill to catch her, too.
But when, though less by skill than strength,
He nears her flying skiff at length—
With nimble paddle, dodging back
She slips off on another tack,
With swiftly-flitting noiseless ease;
As—when some fisher thinks to seize
With gently-dropped and stealthy spear
A flounder, down in shallows clear,
'Mid mottling tufts of dusky weeds
100
The trembling shadow shifts away
Through faintly-shimmering water grey—
'Tis there—and gone—his would-be prey!
So, hovering round with wistful eyes,
While many a feint, to cheat, surprise,
That merry mocker, Ranolf tries,
She, at a little distance staying,
And watchful, with the paddle playing,
No move of his, no glance to miss—
Now darts alert that way, now this;
And at each foiled attempt again
Provokes him in alluring strain:
“Look! I'm one of those divine ones—joy and love of all beholders,
Who had pinions, O such fine ones! growing from their stately shoulders;
Not that fond one too confiding—so in vain your bright eyes watch me—
He, the last on earth residing . . . Ah! you need not think to catch me! . . .
Who, beside his loved-one lying, let the Maid while he was sleeping,
Press his wings off, spoil his flying,—lest he e'er should leave her weeping!”—
Who had pinions, O such fine ones! growing from their stately shoulders;
Not that fond one too confiding—so in vain your bright eyes watch me—
He, the last on earth residing . . . Ah! you need not think to catch me! . . .
Who, beside his loved-one lying, let the Maid while he was sleeping,
Press his wings off, spoil his flying,—lest he e'er should leave her weeping!”—
| Ranolf and Amohia | |