 | My Lyrical Life |  |
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A BALLAD OF THE OLD TIME.
Sweet Night, drop down from thy starry bower
Thy influence dewily mild;
Softly bend over my love's tender flower,
As a Mother bends over her child.
Hush the hills in a deep, dark dream;
To slumber stretch valley and lea;
Fold over all thy purple and pall,
And bring my Love to me.
Thy influence dewily mild;
Softly bend over my love's tender flower,
As a Mother bends over her child.
Hush the hills in a deep, dark dream;
To slumber stretch valley and lea;
Fold over all thy purple and pall,
And bring my Love to me.
You white witching Moon, with your beautiful smile;
You flowers that fondle his feet;
You weird wee Women of fairyland, wile
Not my Love with your kisses sweet.
For him my bower in the old gray tower
Is dighted and dainty to see:
All gentle Powers that walk the night-hours,
Hasten my Love to me.
You flowers that fondle his feet;
You weird wee Women of fairyland, wile
Not my Love with your kisses sweet.
For him my bower in the old gray tower
Is dighted and dainty to see:
All gentle Powers that walk the night-hours,
Hasten my Love to me.
I count my love's rosary over again,
With its feelings and fancies and fears;
Till it breaks in my brain with the tension of pain,
And my pearls are but trembling tears!
I sorrow and sing with the thorn at my breast;
Mine eyes watch unweariedly:
Come crown them, and calm them, and kiss them to rest;
Dear my Love, hasten to me.
With its feelings and fancies and fears;
Till it breaks in my brain with the tension of pain,
And my pearls are but trembling tears!
I sorrow and sing with the thorn at my breast;
Mine eyes watch unweariedly:
Come crown them, and calm them, and kiss them to rest;
Dear my Love, hasten to me.
The ripe swelling buds that are quickened with spring,
Will peep from their silken fold;
And my broidered belt is too short to cling
Round my waist with its girdling gold.
But my Love he will bring the plain gold ring;
Base-born his Babe shall not be!
Leal is his love as the heaven above:
He never will lightly me.
Will peep from their silken fold;
202
Round my waist with its girdling gold.
But my Love he will bring the plain gold ring;
Base-born his Babe shall not be!
Leal is his love as the heaven above:
He never will lightly me.
My Love he hath little of silver or gold;
Of land he hath never a sod;
But my Love is a gay gallant gentleman—
He's a king by the grace of God.
He has borne up the battle-tide broadsword in hand!
He is comely as any ladye!
O and were I a King's daughter,
None other should marry me.
Of land he hath never a sod;
But my Love is a gay gallant gentleman—
He's a king by the grace of God.
He has borne up the battle-tide broadsword in hand!
He is comely as any ladye!
O and were I a King's daughter,
None other should marry me.
My Love shall not wait at the Castle-gate,
My Love shall not tirl at the pin;
My Love he will climb to my bower-window;
Sing O, but my Love shall come in.
The dragon below lieth weary and old,
Sleeping all under the tree;
While I feast my Love on the apples of gold—
But soft! He is coming to me.
My Love shall not tirl at the pin;
My Love he will climb to my bower-window;
Sing O, but my Love shall come in.
The dragon below lieth weary and old,
Sleeping all under the tree;
While I feast my Love on the apples of gold—
But soft! He is coming to me.
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