 | The battle of Niagara |  |
That minstrel watched when others slept,
But when the day-light came—he wept
For tho' a maniac, he could see
That sunshine sports with misery:
He dwelt in caverns;—and alone—
Held no communion, but with one:
And that was but a peasant's child,
A young enthusiast;—a wild
And melancholy girl, whose heart
Was subject to his wondrous art—
She was a sad and lonely one,
And she too loved the evening sun:
The twilight mantle when its blue
Is dropped with light, and wet with dew:
When watery melodies find birth,
And heaven itself seems nearer earth:
She never led the mountain race;
She never joined the insect chase;
Or left her solitary place,
To join the dance, or trill the song:
Or o'er the cliffs, to bound along;
But all alone—in silence, where
The rocky cliff stood cloudless—bare—
With folded arms, and loosened hair—
And robe abroad upon the air—
And turbaned wreath and streaming feather,
Would stand for hours and hours together!
And listen to the song that came
Tumultuous from a neighbouring height,
And watch that minstrel-boy in flame,
While harping to the god of light.
But when the day-light came—he wept
For tho' a maniac, he could see
That sunshine sports with misery:
He dwelt in caverns;—and alone—
Held no communion, but with one:
And that was but a peasant's child,
A young enthusiast;—a wild
And melancholy girl, whose heart
Was subject to his wondrous art—
195
And she too loved the evening sun:
The twilight mantle when its blue
Is dropped with light, and wet with dew:
When watery melodies find birth,
And heaven itself seems nearer earth:
She never led the mountain race;
She never joined the insect chase;
Or left her solitary place,
To join the dance, or trill the song:
Or o'er the cliffs, to bound along;
But all alone—in silence, where
The rocky cliff stood cloudless—bare—
With folded arms, and loosened hair—
And robe abroad upon the air—
And turbaned wreath and streaming feather,
Would stand for hours and hours together!
And listen to the song that came
Tumultuous from a neighbouring height,
And watch that minstrel-boy in flame,
While harping to the god of light.
| The battle of Niagara | |