The Alhambra and Other Poems By F. B. Money-Coutts [i.e. F. B. T. Coutts-Nevill] |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
A Ballad of Cornwall
|
|
 | The Alhambra and Other Poems |  |
43
A Ballad of Cornwall
Sir Tristram lay by a well,
Making sad moan;
Fast his tears fell;
For wild the wood through,
Stricken with shrewd
Sorrow he ran,
When he deemed her untrue—
La Beale Isoud!
For he loved her alone.
Making sad moan;
Fast his tears fell;
For wild the wood through,
Stricken with shrewd
Sorrow he ran,
When he deemed her untrue—
La Beale Isoud!
For he loved her alone.
So as he lay
Wasted and wan,
Scarce like a man,
Pricking that way
His lady-love came,
With her damsels around,
And her face all aflame
With the breezes of May;
While a brachet beside her
Still bayed the fair rider,
Still leaped up and bayed her;
A small scenting hound
That Sir Tristram purveyed her.
Wasted and wan,
Scarce like a man,
Pricking that way
His lady-love came,
With her damsels around,
And her face all aflame
With the breezes of May;
While a brachet beside her
Still bayed the fair rider,
Still leaped up and bayed her;
A small scenting hound
That Sir Tristram purveyed her.
44
So she rode on;
But the brachet behind
Hung snuffing the wind;
Till seeking and crying
Faster and faster,
Beside the well lying
She found her dear master!
Then licking his ears
And cheeks wet with tears,
For joy never resting,
Kept whining and questing.
But the brachet behind
Hung snuffing the wind;
Till seeking and crying
Faster and faster,
Beside the well lying
She found her dear master!
Then licking his ears
And cheeks wet with tears,
For joy never resting,
Kept whining and questing.
Isoud (returned,
Seeking her hound)
Soon as she learned
Tristram was found,
Straightway alighting,
Fell in a swound.
Seeking her hound)
Soon as she learned
Tristram was found,
Straightway alighting,
Fell in a swound.
When, by her lover
Won to recover,
Isoud was lying
Pale and complying,
Who shall the greeting
Tell of their meeting?
Joy, by no tongue
E'er to be sung,
Passed in that plighting!
Won to recover,
Isoud was lying
Pale and complying,
Who shall the greeting
Tell of their meeting?
Joy, by no tongue
E'er to be sung,
Passed in that plighting!
Thus while they dallied,
Forth the wood sallied
An horrible libbard, and bare
The brachet away to his lair!
Forth the wood sallied
An horrible libbard, and bare
The brachet away to his lair!
| The Alhambra and Other Poems | |