 | Poems |  |
114
TO LADY BLANCHE:
A FAVORITE STEED.
O gentle steed! ere thou dost go,
Let pleasant memories overflow,
To speak thy just renown;
For who unmoved can thee behold,
Thy spotless coat, thy graceful mould,
And rich mane floating down?
Let pleasant memories overflow,
To speak thy just renown;
For who unmoved can thee behold,
Thy spotless coat, thy graceful mould,
And rich mane floating down?
As thus I pat thy neck of snow,
Delicious fancies come and go,
Like thy soft eye's dilating;
Thou callest back the days of yore,
When Faith's emprize Love's guerdon wore,
Heroic deeds creating.
Delicious fancies come and go,
Like thy soft eye's dilating;
Thou callest back the days of yore,
When Faith's emprize Love's guerdon wore,
Heroic deeds creating.
I think how rarely blend in thee
High spirit and docility,
Good faith and playful art;
How, moving as the reins direct,
Thou dost such nonchalance affect—
A woman's counterpart!
High spirit and docility,
Good faith and playful art;
115
Thou dost such nonchalance affect—
A woman's counterpart!
For, while sequestered paths beside
Thy dainty feet right onward glide,
Unconscious speed betraying;
Let but spectators come in view,
Thou dost each winsome trick renew,
Thine every grace displaying!
Thy dainty feet right onward glide,
Unconscious speed betraying;
Let but spectators come in view,
Thou dost each winsome trick renew,
Thine every grace displaying!
Yet one blest truth from this I draw,
And trace in thy caprice a law
That lends new worth to beauty;
High instincts mannered charms impart,
But for the chosen of the heart
Still keep all love and duty.
And trace in thy caprice a law
That lends new worth to beauty;
High instincts mannered charms impart,
But for the chosen of the heart
Still keep all love and duty.
On such a deed sprung Lochinvar,
To bear so gallantly afar
The maid he bravely wooed;
On such a steed the martyr-queen,
Bewildered, tearful, yet serene,
Passed on to Holyrood.
To bear so gallantly afar
The maid he bravely wooed;
On such a steed the martyr-queen,
Bewildered, tearful, yet serene,
Passed on to Holyrood.
116
Of all thy praise be this the meed,
No attribute can this exceed,
Thou doest the behest
Of one who finds in thee a throne,
As firm and cheering as her own
In hearts where she's a guest.
No attribute can this exceed,
Thou doest the behest
Of one who finds in thee a throne,
As firm and cheering as her own
In hearts where she's a guest.
Then arch thy neck with noble zeal,
Her hand upon thy mane to feel,
And leap, curvet and prance!
Amble!—we have a word to say—
Fly!—how life's wings exultant play!
Hurrah for Lady Blanche!
Her hand upon thy mane to feel,
And leap, curvet and prance!
Amble!—we have a word to say—
Fly!—how life's wings exultant play!
Hurrah for Lady Blanche!
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