The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace |
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| II. | II. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
II.
Thus Julian pines in durance. Now has run
The yearly circuit since he saw the sun;
And, from his softening jailer, this is all
He yet has won to mitigate his thrall,
That, nightly passing from his low mid place,
One hour his steps should have a freer space
In a wide room with grated bars, that so
Heaven's breath on his young head might freshly blow.
'Twas now his privileged hour; with weary pain
He paced the chamber, dragging still his chain.
But hark! near coming through the stilly night
A mandolin: how sweet its touches light!
He bent to hear it: well that lay he knew,
Since oft he breathed it forth, slow sauntering through
The Palace gardens, in the twilight dim,
Till Geraldine had learned it thus from him;
Since twice, as paused his song, entranced he stood
To hear it softly back to him renewed
From her high lattice: well he knew that lay;
No time shall blot it from his heart away!
The yearly circuit since he saw the sun;
And, from his softening jailer, this is all
He yet has won to mitigate his thrall,
That, nightly passing from his low mid place,
One hour his steps should have a freer space
In a wide room with grated bars, that so
Heaven's breath on his young head might freshly blow.
'Twas now his privileged hour; with weary pain
He paced the chamber, dragging still his chain.
160
A mandolin: how sweet its touches light!
He bent to hear it: well that lay he knew,
Since oft he breathed it forth, slow sauntering through
The Palace gardens, in the twilight dim,
Till Geraldine had learned it thus from him;
Since twice, as paused his song, entranced he stood
To hear it softly back to him renewed
From her high lattice: well he knew that lay;
No time shall blot it from his heart away!
It ceased; he started; in the moonlight clear,
Outside his window, stands a lady near.
'Tis Geraldine! softly he named her name,
And to his words this gentle answer came:—
“Thou good young Prince, oh is it thou? The grace
Of life they shame, who keep thee in this place
Forlorn and fettered thus. Say, Captive one,
Can aught to succour thee by me be done?”
Outside his window, stands a lady near.
'Tis Geraldine! softly he named her name,
And to his words this gentle answer came:—
“Thou good young Prince, oh is it thou? The grace
Of life they shame, who keep thee in this place
Forlorn and fettered thus. Say, Captive one,
Can aught to succour thee by me be done?”
“Why, I might wish these idle days were by;
Might wish,” he said, “again to see the sky
Wide o'er the world: The seasons in their range,
That come and go with sweet dividual change,
My home of early days, my friends of fame,
The camp, the field, the glory of a name,
Still haunt my heart. Yet joy, all hope, all power
Are undesired; yea death be mine this hour,
If thou hast doomed me thus! They tell me, maid,
By thee, O thee, in fetters here I'm laid.
My soul! can it be so? Shall man believe
She comes in mockery thus to see me grieve?”
Might wish,” he said, “again to see the sky
Wide o'er the world: The seasons in their range,
That come and go with sweet dividual change,
My home of early days, my friends of fame,
The camp, the field, the glory of a name,
Still haunt my heart. Yet joy, all hope, all power
Are undesired; yea death be mine this hour,
If thou hast doomed me thus! They tell me, maid,
By thee, O thee, in fetters here I'm laid.
My soul! can it be so? Shall man believe
She comes in mockery thus to see me grieve?”
“No, no!” she answered. “But my heart, not clear
From other blame, deserves thy thought severe.
For I did wrong thee, deeming, till to-day,
That thou hadst broke thy faith, and fled away.
They told me so, but oh, it ne'er was so;
Unstained thy honour, spotless as the snow.
And now, young Knight, need I declare that I
Ne'er doomed, ne'er wished thee thus abased to lie?
Oh no, indeed! To-day, my faithful slave
First heard of this: the news to me he gave:
Thy prison found, 'twas mine that lay to try,
To probe these depths of dull captivity;
To let thee know thou wert not all forgot,
Nor all uncared for in thy lonely lot;
To make thee hope that friends were planning for thee,
And yet again to freedom might restore thee.”
From other blame, deserves thy thought severe.
For I did wrong thee, deeming, till to-day,
That thou hadst broke thy faith, and fled away.
161
Unstained thy honour, spotless as the snow.
And now, young Knight, need I declare that I
Ne'er doomed, ne'er wished thee thus abased to lie?
Oh no, indeed! To-day, my faithful slave
First heard of this: the news to me he gave:
Thy prison found, 'twas mine that lay to try,
To probe these depths of dull captivity;
To let thee know thou wert not all forgot,
Nor all uncared for in thy lonely lot;
To make thee hope that friends were planning for thee,
And yet again to freedom might restore thee.”
“This, this is to be free; and I am free!”
The Captive murmured: “ne'er the hard decree
That chained me thus, dear virgin, came from thee!
Yon Moon in heaven how many hearts have blest,
As on she journeys meekly to the west!
She lights the white ships o'er untravelled seas,
She soothes the little birds upon the trees,
And cheers the creatures of the solitudes,
And leads the lovers through the glimmering woods,
And gives to weary hearts unworldly calm,
When slumber comes not with its wonted balm:
But not yon Moon in heaven, without a stain,
To watchful sailors o'er the trackless main,
To little birds, to desert beasts of night,
To lovers hasting by her glimpsing light,
To hearts oppressed, is, as thou art to me,
Maid with the dovelike eyes, whose grace of love I see!”
The Captive murmured: “ne'er the hard decree
That chained me thus, dear virgin, came from thee!
Yon Moon in heaven how many hearts have blest,
As on she journeys meekly to the west!
She lights the white ships o'er untravelled seas,
She soothes the little birds upon the trees,
And cheers the creatures of the solitudes,
And leads the lovers through the glimmering woods,
And gives to weary hearts unworldly calm,
When slumber comes not with its wonted balm:
But not yon Moon in heaven, without a stain,
To watchful sailors o'er the trackless main,
To little birds, to desert beasts of night,
To lovers hasting by her glimpsing light,
To hearts oppressed, is, as thou art to me,
Maid with the dovelike eyes, whose grace of love I see!”
“Farewell, young Sir! From out this living grave,”
The Princess whispered, “thee I'll try to save.
Farewell, and fear not!” Geraldine is gone;
Slowly the Captive turns, and feels he is alone.
The Princess whispered, “thee I'll try to save.
Farewell, and fear not!” Geraldine is gone;
Slowly the Captive turns, and feels he is alone.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |