The Legend of Genevieve with other tales and poems. By Delta [i.e. David Macbeth Moir] |
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| BALLADS. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Legend of Genevieve |  |
269
BALLADS.
No. I. SIR HAROLD.
A day of strife hath fled;
The azure mantle of Twilight falls;
The field is strew'd with dead;
But the cross is planted on Salem's walls!
In vain the Sultan cried,
'Mid the boiling fight, for the Prophet's aid;
And on, with swords allied,
Rush'd the hosts of the Christian undismay'd!
The azure mantle of Twilight falls;
The field is strew'd with dead;
But the cross is planted on Salem's walls!
In vain the Sultan cried,
'Mid the boiling fight, for the Prophet's aid;
And on, with swords allied,
Rush'd the hosts of the Christian undismay'd!
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He laid him down to die,
At the foot of an aloes, a wounded knight,
Beneath the chilly sky,
And the fading traces of western light:—
With desolating force,
The night-wind moan'd 'mid the forest gloom:
And, in its sweeping course,
Uplifted the depth of his raven plume.
At the foot of an aloes, a wounded knight,
Beneath the chilly sky,
And the fading traces of western light:—
With desolating force,
The night-wind moan'd 'mid the forest gloom:
And, in its sweeping course,
Uplifted the depth of his raven plume.
In garb of green, a page,
Alone, o'er his dying master hung,
His anguish to assuage,
And cool the thirst of his burning tongue;
The frequent falling tear
He dash'd in vain from his eyes of blue;
As the knight, he loved so dear,
His painful breathing aye shorter drew!
Alone, o'er his dying master hung,
His anguish to assuage,
And cool the thirst of his burning tongue;
The frequent falling tear
He dash'd in vain from his eyes of blue;
As the knight, he loved so dear,
His painful breathing aye shorter drew!
Said the knight, “When war is done,
And to Europe our vessels retrace the sea,
Then bear this pledge to one—
The only one that may weep for me!
Oh! tell, that, as I sigh'd,
This broken pledge to my heart was press'd;
Oh! tell, that ere I died,
I hung o'er her magic name, and bless'd!”
And to Europe our vessels retrace the sea,
Then bear this pledge to one—
The only one that may weep for me!
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This broken pledge to my heart was press'd;
Oh! tell, that ere I died,
I hung o'er her magic name, and bless'd!”
“Pardon,” exclaim'd the page—
“If love will pardon to love allow;
Ella of Hermitage
Forsook her kin, to be with thee now!”—
He turns his dying eyes,
Sir Harold, and gazes on that sweet face;—
To speak in vain he tries,
Then sank like lead in a last embrace!
“If love will pardon to love allow;
Ella of Hermitage
Forsook her kin, to be with thee now!”—
He turns his dying eyes,
Sir Harold, and gazes on that sweet face;—
To speak in vain he tries,
Then sank like lead in a last embrace!
She press'd her cheek to his,
To his as cold as the marble stone;
And with one long, long kiss,
Her heart had broke—her spirit was flown!
In the shade of the aloes tree,
In death united, the lovers lay;
And many a tear fell free,
O'er their graves, at the dawn of day;
To his as cold as the marble stone;
And with one long, long kiss,
Her heart had broke—her spirit was flown!
In the shade of the aloes tree,
In death united, the lovers lay;
And many a tear fell free,
O'er their graves, at the dawn of day;
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And brightly o'er the tomb,
Where, side by side, these lovers repose,
Commingling their perfume,
A rose of England and Sharon grows;
And, on the boughs above,
When fades in the west the parting light,
The dirge of faithful love
A bulbul hymns to the ear of Night.
Where, side by side, these lovers repose,
Commingling their perfume,
A rose of England and Sharon grows;
And, on the boughs above,
When fades in the west the parting light,
The dirge of faithful love
A bulbul hymns to the ear of Night.
273
No. II. ADELINE.
The night was dark, the thunder roll'd,
In torrents the rain was pouring;
The lightning flash'd—'twas to unfold
The breast of the wild sea roaring:—
Then, from the tower, gazed Adeline
On the tempest's wild commotion,
And dim blue lights were seen to shine
Afar on the foaming ocean!
In torrents the rain was pouring;
The lightning flash'd—'twas to unfold
The breast of the wild sea roaring:—
Then, from the tower, gazed Adeline
On the tempest's wild commotion,
And dim blue lights were seen to shine
Afar on the foaming ocean!
Alas! she sigh'd, that one so dear,
Should toss on the faithless billow,
While thousands, void of doubt and fear,
Repose on the downy pillow;
Hark!—'tis the distant signal gun
And lo! as the lightning flashes,
The crowds on yonder deck that run,
As the sinking vessel crashes!
Should toss on the faithless billow,
While thousands, void of doubt and fear,
Repose on the downy pillow;
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And lo! as the lightning flashes,
The crowds on yonder deck that run,
As the sinking vessel crashes!
No more she saw—no more she heard,
For darkness begirt the ocean,
Save the dismal wail of frighted bird,
Or the yeasty waves' commotion,
Till morning woke; and, on the beach,
Did Adeline's eyes discover,
Beneath her tower, within her reach,
The pale, pale face of her lover!
For darkness begirt the ocean,
Save the dismal wail of frighted bird,
Or the yeasty waves' commotion,
Till morning woke; and, on the beach,
Did Adeline's eyes discover,
Beneath her tower, within her reach,
The pale, pale face of her lover!
Hark! from her lattice to the breeze,
How mournfully sweet she is singing!
Now gazing wistful o'er the seas,
And ever her white hands wringing:
From festal bower, since that dread hour,
Hath Adeline's smile departed,
And oft she sings, when shadows lower,
The song of the broken-hearted!
How mournfully sweet she is singing!
Now gazing wistful o'er the seas,
And ever her white hands wringing:
From festal bower, since that dread hour,
Hath Adeline's smile departed,
And oft she sings, when shadows lower,
The song of the broken-hearted!
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She was a star of beauty rare,
O'er the brow of a twilight mountain;
A flower that spreads its bosom fair,
By the side of a vernal fountain:
There came a cloud, and veil'd the star,
From earth its light is banish'd;
There rose a flood, and, in the jar
Of waters the young flower vanish'd!
O'er the brow of a twilight mountain;
A flower that spreads its bosom fair,
By the side of a vernal fountain:
There came a cloud, and veil'd the star,
From earth its light is banish'd;
There rose a flood, and, in the jar
Of waters the young flower vanish'd!
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No. III. FALSE FLORENCE.
They harbour'd from the ocean,
Whereon they long had roved;
And Paul, in youth's devotion,
Sought out the maid he loved.
Whereon they long had roved;
And Paul, in youth's devotion,
Sought out the maid he loved.
His every wish was thwarted,
And hope forsook his eye,
As calm, but broken-hearted,
He laid him down to die.
And hope forsook his eye,
As calm, but broken-hearted,
He laid him down to die.
Weaker he waned, and weaker,
Unto a shade he wore;
At length, he bade them seek her,
And bring her him before.
Unto a shade he wore;
At length, he bade them seek her,
And bring her him before.
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They sought her, and they found her,
A young, and joyful bride;
With mirthful faces round her,
A bridegroom at her side,
A young, and joyful bride;
With mirthful faces round her,
A bridegroom at her side,
They brought her to him lying,
A pale, departing man;
She gazed upon him dying,
And then to weep began.
A pale, departing man;
She gazed upon him dying,
And then to weep began.
He stretch'd his hand unto her,
And press'd her hand in his,—
“Florence, had'st thou been truer,
It had not come to this.
And press'd her hand in his,—
“Florence, had'st thou been truer,
It had not come to this.
“Yet will not I upbraid thee;
No—freely I forgive;
When low in dust they've laid me,
Long—long, and happy live!”
No—freely I forgive;
When low in dust they've laid me,
Long—long, and happy live!”
No more he said, but closing
His eyes, as if in sleep;
They thought he lay reposing—
That last repose was deep!
His eyes, as if in sleep;
They thought he lay reposing—
That last repose was deep!
278
No. IV. THE BARD'S WISH.
Oh! were I laid
In the greenwood shade,
Beneath the covert of waving trees;
Removed from woe,
And the ills below,
That render life but a long disease!
In the greenwood shade,
Beneath the covert of waving trees;
Removed from woe,
And the ills below,
That render life but a long disease!
No more to weep,
But in soothing sleep
To slumber on long ages through;—
My grave-turf bright
With the rosy light
Of eve, or the morning's silver dew!
But in soothing sleep
To slumber on long ages through;—
My grave-turf bright
With the rosy light
Of eve, or the morning's silver dew!
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For all my dreams,
And vision'd gleams,
Are not like those of this earthly span;
My spirit would stray
For ever away
From the noise of strife, and the haunts of man.
And vision'd gleams,
Are not like those of this earthly span;
My spirit would stray
For ever away
From the noise of strife, and the haunts of man.
I ask no dirge.—
The foaming surge
Of the torrent will sing a lament for me;
And the evening breeze,
That stirs the trees,
Will murmur a mournful lullaby.
The foaming surge
Of the torrent will sing a lament for me;
And the evening breeze,
That stirs the trees,
Will murmur a mournful lullaby.
Plant not—plant not—
Above the spot,
Memorial stones for the stranger's gaze;
The earth and sky
Are enough, for I
Have lived with Nature all my days!
Above the spot,
Memorial stones for the stranger's gaze;
The earth and sky
Are enough, for I
Have lived with Nature all my days!
Oh! were I laid
In the greenwood shade,
Beneath the covert of waving trees;
Removed from woe,
And the ills below,
That render life but a long disease!
In the greenwood shade,
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Removed from woe,
And the ills below,
That render life but a long disease!
281
No. V. FITZTRAVER'S GRAVE.
The clouds frown darkly on the sky,
And the night-wind moans as it rustles by;
The stream runs down with heavy sound,
And all is dreary and dull around.
And the night-wind moans as it rustles by;
The stream runs down with heavy sound,
And all is dreary and dull around.
Fitful, between the parted shroud
Of the rifted, melancholy cloud,
A bright star twinkles, and then is hid
Beneath the moving pyramid.
Of the rifted, melancholy cloud,
A bright star twinkles, and then is hid
Beneath the moving pyramid.
'Tis a gloomy landscape: all is still,
Save bleat of lamb from the distant hill,
The watch-dog's hollow bay on the breeze,
And night-winds tossing the sullen trees.
Save bleat of lamb from the distant hill,
The watch-dog's hollow bay on the breeze,
And night-winds tossing the sullen trees.
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The long weeds hang o'er the massy gate
Of our watch-tower, ruin'd and desolate;
Its idle door no menial bars,
And with every blast it creaks and jars.
Of our watch-tower, ruin'd and desolate;
Its idle door no menial bars,
And with every blast it creaks and jars.
Desponding, and dreary, and dark with strife,
Bear witness these, is human life,
And thrills the blood, as hemlocks wave
O'er the buried murderer's grave!
Bear witness these, is human life,
And thrills the blood, as hemlocks wave
O'er the buried murderer's grave!
Ho! rein thy steed—'tis on the stone,
Where rots the maniac bone by bone:
By this castle gateway alone he stood,
In the dark, to sheathe his knife in blood!
Where rots the maniac bone by bone:
By this castle gateway alone he stood,
In the dark, to sheathe his knife in blood!
Spouted forth the ensanguined tide—
And, without a murmur, Sir Edmund died!—
With the torches red throng'd our vassals round,—
But the murderer folded his arms, and frown'd.
And, without a murmur, Sir Edmund died!—
With the torches red throng'd our vassals round,—
But the murderer folded his arms, and frown'd.
“Tis done—this dagger hath well repaid
For friendship wrong'd, and for trust betray'd;
Go—tell his perjur'd ladye too,
That a slighted lover thus could do!
For friendship wrong'd, and for trust betray'd;
Go—tell his perjur'd ladye too,
That a slighted lover thus could do!
283
“Now strike me”—and a flash of swords,
Ready and sharp like his frantic words,
Through him went, and down he sunk—
Cloven helmet, and mangled trunk.
Ready and sharp like his frantic words,
Through him went, and down he sunk—
Cloven helmet, and mangled trunk.
They dug his grave whereon he stood,
That weeds might spring from his tainted blood;
But the chanted hymns did duly roll,
Morning and night, for our master's soul.
That weeds might spring from his tainted blood;
But the chanted hymns did duly roll,
Morning and night, for our master's soul.
Though, alas! for our Ladye Alice fair,
She tore the jewels from her raven hair,
And evermore, in the convent cell,
Came forth her prayers at the toll of bell!—
She tore the jewels from her raven hair,
And evermore, in the convent cell,
Came forth her prayers at the toll of bell!—
Yearly, when this night comes round,
Spectres haunt this accursed ground,
And yon desolate castle, tower, and spire,
Brightly gleam with unhallow'd fire.
Spectres haunt this accursed ground,
And yon desolate castle, tower, and spire,
Brightly gleam with unhallow'd fire.
Traveller, on—the night is dark,
Yet lights to the west thine eye may mark;
And down through the hazel copses turn,
By the dove-cot rent, and the wimpling burn.
Yet lights to the west thine eye may mark;
And down through the hazel copses turn,
By the dove-cot rent, and the wimpling burn.
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Then rein thy steed, and turn thee aloof,
On that grey stone print not his hoof;
Plunge thy spur to the rowel red,
And on and away be thy journey sped.
On that grey stone print not his hoof;
Plunge thy spur to the rowel red,
And on and away be thy journey sped.
285
No. VI. THE SPECTRE'S VISIT.
Within her lonely chamber sate
Fair Helen at the dusk of day;
She ponder'd o'er her hapless fate,
Then sigh'd for William far away.
Fair Helen at the dusk of day;
She ponder'd o'er her hapless fate,
Then sigh'd for William far away.
Kneeling, she pray'd her love return'd
From moonless storms, and weltering seas;
And aye, as desolate she mourn'd,
Plash'd the loud rains, and raved the breeze.
From moonless storms, and weltering seas;
And aye, as desolate she mourn'd,
Plash'd the loud rains, and raved the breeze.
Dim lower'd the night of Winter down
On bleak December's tempest wild;
Waste was the sylvan, and from town
Joy seem'd with Summer's warmth exiled.
On bleak December's tempest wild;
Waste was the sylvan, and from town
Joy seem'd with Summer's warmth exiled.
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Without she heard the raven's cry;
Within lay silence o'er the room;
The embers flicker'd fitfully
O'er the high roof, then sank to gloom.
Within lay silence o'er the room;
The embers flicker'd fitfully
O'er the high roof, then sank to gloom.
Now brighten'd shone the warriors stern,
In limnings old that hung around;
In light their smiles she could discern,
But ever with the dark they frown'd.
In limnings old that hung around;
In light their smiles she could discern,
But ever with the dark they frown'd.
She wept—the warm unconscious tear
The bridling lid no longer brook'd;
Startled, she rose with sudden fear—
She listen'd,—and behind she look'd.—
The bridling lid no longer brook'd;
Startled, she rose with sudden fear—
She listen'd,—and behind she look'd.—
“Who—what art thou?” she shriek'd aloud,
“That comest to cause me needless fear?”—
Like winds beneath grey Winter's cloud,
So came the voice that thrill'd her ear.
“That comest to cause me needless fear?”—
Like winds beneath grey Winter's cloud,
So came the voice that thrill'd her ear.
“Helen! behold me—I am he
To whom was pledged thy virgin troth;
Whelm'd lie my bones within the sea,
And bleach beneath the surge's froth.
To whom was pledged thy virgin troth;
Whelm'd lie my bones within the sea,
And bleach beneath the surge's froth.
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“The starless Archipelago
In fire and foam did o'er us break;
Our good ship sank the floods below;
Yet sought I life for Helen's sake!
In fire and foam did o'er us break;
Our good ship sank the floods below;
Yet sought I life for Helen's sake!
“I buffetted the mountain waves;
I dash'd the foaming brine aside;
Now downwards suck'd to ocean's caves,—
Now whirl'd aloft upon the tide.—
I dash'd the foaming brine aside;
Now downwards suck'd to ocean's caves,—
Now whirl'd aloft upon the tide.—
“The clouds were crush'd, a deluge rush'd;
With sheeted fire the sky was riven;
And now the rolling sands we brush'd;
And now the reeling stars of heaven!
With sheeted fire the sky was riven;
And now the rolling sands we brush'd;
And now the reeling stars of heaven!
“The tempest howl'd; sea-monsters growl'd;
'Twas thunder's burst, and billows' roar;
Grim forms of flame before me came—
And dizzying sounds—and all was o'er.—
'Twas thunder's burst, and billows' roar;
Grim forms of flame before me came—
And dizzying sounds—and all was o'er.—
“Ha! dost thou know me not? has Death
Then changed this cheek so wan and wild?
Hast thou forgot the hawthorn path,
Where William sued, and Helen smiled?
Then changed this cheek so wan and wild?
Hast thou forgot the hawthorn path,
Where William sued, and Helen smiled?
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“Hast thou forgot the broken gold?
Hast thou forgot the linden tree?
Must our love-tokens all be told?
Oh Helen, Helen, this from thee!
Hast thou forgot the linden tree?
Must our love-tokens all be told?
Oh Helen, Helen, this from thee!
“'Tis done—'tis o'er; I must away
O'er wave and wild, unseen to roam;
Before the moon her earliest ray
Sheds o'er the deep, I must be home!”—
O'er wave and wild, unseen to roam;
Before the moon her earliest ray
Sheds o'er the deep, I must be home!”—
He turn'd and raised his shadowy arm,
As if in grief to veil his brow;
Uprose the ladye, in mad alarm,
Around his neck her arms to throw.—
As if in grief to veil his brow;
Uprose the ladye, in mad alarm,
Around his neck her arms to throw.—
“I go with thee, through fire or sea!”
Rushing, she cried with piercing scream;
Like bliss from heaven, oh sure 'twas given—
She woke, and found 'twas all a dream!
Rushing, she cried with piercing scream;
Like bliss from heaven, oh sure 'twas given—
She woke, and found 'twas all a dream!
'Twas all a dream, red morning's beam
Through the bower'd casement glimmer'd free;
While clouds on high were sailing bye;
The blackbird chanting from its tree.
Through the bower'd casement glimmer'd free;
While clouds on high were sailing bye;
The blackbird chanting from its tree.
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And yet its song she could not heed:—
Who knocks so loud, and cannot wait?
Hark!—'tis the neighing of a steed—
And lo! her love is at the gate!
Who knocks so loud, and cannot wait?
Hark!—'tis the neighing of a steed—
And lo! her love is at the gate!
| The Legend of Genevieve | |