 | The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics |  |
188
MISTRESS MADELINE'S PENANCE.
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
You shall pine to day—
Never smile and look so sprightly,
Never toss your head so lightly—
Mistress Madeline, I tell you,
You shall pine to-day!
You shall pine to day—
Never smile and look so sprightly,
Never toss your head so lightly—
Mistress Madeline, I tell you,
You shall pine to-day!
Hooded hawk away!—content thee
With thy perch, pardie!
Not a ray of morning's brightness
Is in store for thee.
Hound, that snuffest the fresh breezes,
Couch! for thou must stay
By my side, till gloaming cometh
And the sky is grey—
Mistress Madeline, thy ladye,
Goes not forth to-day.
With thy perch, pardie!
Not a ray of morning's brightness
Is in store for thee.
Hound, that snuffest the fresh breezes,
Couch! for thou must stay
By my side, till gloaming cometh
And the sky is grey—
Mistress Madeline, thy ladye,
Goes not forth to-day.
189
Pr'ythee why?—we rode together,
False one, yestermorn;
Never day of eastern summer
Knew a brighter dawn;
And you thought so, very clearly
Smiled your lips that truth;
Hound and hawk were happy sharers
In your joy, good sooth!
You had smiles for bird and blossom,
Smiles for stream and tree,
Smiles for earth and smiles for heaven,
But not one for me—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
Not one smile for me!
False one, yestermorn;
Never day of eastern summer
Knew a brighter dawn;
And you thought so, very clearly
Smiled your lips that truth;
Hound and hawk were happy sharers
In your joy, good sooth!
You had smiles for bird and blossom,
Smiles for stream and tree,
Smiles for earth and smiles for heaven,
But not one for me—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
Not one smile for me!
And you spoke, as if your fancies
Wandered like your smile;
Little recked you of the shadows
On my face the while.
Mort-dieu! I grew black as tempest,—
With a scowling brow
Vowed I a great vow of vengeance,
And must keep it now;—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
I must keep that vow!
Wandered like your smile;
Little recked you of the shadows
On my face the while.
Mort-dieu! I grew black as tempest,—
With a scowling brow
Vowed I a great vow of vengeance,
And must keep it now;—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
I must keep that vow!
190
Ah! sly mocker, still art smiling
With that face demure?
Tune thine harp and sing unweary,
Till thou work my cure,
Ditties of the olden ages
That I love the best,
Ditties of a leal devotion
In true woman's breast:
All day long, till gloaming cometh,
Thou must sit by me—
Sit, and sing and smile, more fairly
Than on flower and tree;
All day long till gloaming cometh,
And no thought must stray,
Not a single fitful fancy
Wander hence away;—
Mistress Madeline, this penance
Thou must do to-day.
With that face demure?
Tune thine harp and sing unweary,
Till thou work my cure,
Ditties of the olden ages
That I love the best,
Ditties of a leal devotion
In true woman's breast:
All day long, till gloaming cometh,
Thou must sit by me—
Sit, and sing and smile, more fairly
Than on flower and tree;
All day long till gloaming cometh,
And no thought must stray,
Not a single fitful fancy
Wander hence away;—
Mistress Madeline, this penance
Thou must do to-day.
For I hold it treason, ladye,
Such as ne'er should be,
To be lured, as thou wert, lightly
From love's loyalty.
Love—a flower-crowned god, you deem him—
It may be, but still,
Laws hath he of sternest fashion
And a vengeful will.
Try him, tamper with his roses,
And ere long you'll own
That their slender stems are garnished
Not with moss alone.
Mort-dieu? you shall own it, minion,
Whatsoe'er befall—
Ere the sun drop from the welkin,
Ere you 'scape my thrall—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
Oh! be sure you shall!
Such as ne'er should be,
To be lured, as thou wert, lightly
From love's loyalty.
Love—a flower-crowned god, you deem him—
It may be, but still,
191
And a vengeful will.
Try him, tamper with his roses,
And ere long you'll own
That their slender stems are garnished
Not with moss alone.
Mort-dieu? you shall own it, minion,
Whatsoe'er befall—
Ere the sun drop from the welkin,
Ere you 'scape my thrall—
Mistress Madeline, my ladye,
Oh! be sure you shall!
| The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics | |