Songs of A Wayfarer By William Davies |
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| LXIV. | LXIV. THE CASTLE ON THE ISLAND. |
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 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
LXIV. THE CASTLE ON THE ISLAND.
There lies amidst a gloomy lake
An island spread with tangled brake,
Brambles and thistles:
A broken castle donjon stands
Thereon which all the isle commands,
And lower down upon the sands
A convent nestles.
An island spread with tangled brake,
Brambles and thistles:
A broken castle donjon stands
Thereon which all the isle commands,
And lower down upon the sands
A convent nestles.
65
No fisherman beside that isle
Leans on his oar to rest awhile;
And when he passes
He signs himself and hastens by,
As if he heard some fearful cry
Borne by the breezes as they die
Amongst the grasses.
Leans on his oar to rest awhile;
And when he passes
He signs himself and hastens by,
As if he heard some fearful cry
Borne by the breezes as they die
Amongst the grasses.
For there, 'tis whispered, on a time,
Was wrought a dark and deadly crime
To make one shudder;
And there are heard mysterious moans,
And whispers mixed with sobs and groans,
And blood yet lies upon the stones
Of a foul murder.
Was wrought a dark and deadly crime
To make one shudder;
And there are heard mysterious moans,
And whispers mixed with sobs and groans,
And blood yet lies upon the stones
Of a foul murder.
And thus the direful story goes,
That once beside that tower there rose
A lordly castle,
And in it dwelt a noble race
Which had been master of the place
Since winds upon the water's face
Would roam and whistle.
That once beside that tower there rose
A lordly castle,
And in it dwelt a noble race
Which had been master of the place
Since winds upon the water's face
Would roam and whistle.
And of that race there was a youth
As gallant and as brave, in sooth,
As e'er did carry
A lance in rest—true nobleman,
Who loved, in spite of curse and ban,
The daughter of a fisherman,
And her would marry.
As gallant and as brave, in sooth,
As e'er did carry
A lance in rest—true nobleman,
Who loved, in spite of curse and ban,
The daughter of a fisherman,
And her would marry.
66
But, threatened by the castle's lord,
Her parents in the convent's ward
Were fain to place her.
Yet though you shut from face of day
Love's object, Love will find a way
To reach it soon or late, they say:
He there did trace her.
Her parents in the convent's ward
Were fain to place her.
Yet though you shut from face of day
Love's object, Love will find a way
To reach it soon or late, they say:
He there did trace her.
At night her lover climbed the wall
In spite of abbess, nuns and all,
The danger scorning.
For weeks and months this may have been
Ere he a bleeding corpse was seen,
Stretched by the wall, upon the green,
One summer's morning.
In spite of abbess, nuns and all,
The danger scorning.
For weeks and months this may have been
Ere he a bleeding corpse was seen,
Stretched by the wall, upon the green,
One summer's morning.
The fishermaiden all day sighed,
And through the night she wept and cried,
Bathing her pillow;
And in the convent's ground, 'tis said,
A tiny grave was shortly made
Wherein a little babe was laid
Beside a willow.
And through the night she wept and cried,
Bathing her pillow;
And in the convent's ground, 'tis said,
A tiny grave was shortly made
Wherein a little babe was laid
Beside a willow.
And then she broke the convent's bound,
And wandered all the island round,
Wailing her lover;
And she would dress a doll of wood,
And think to feed it with her food:
Alas! she mourned life's highest good:
Her peace was over.
And wandered all the island round,
Wailing her lover;
And she would dress a doll of wood,
And think to feed it with her food:
Alas! she mourned life's highest good:
Her peace was over.
67
Now in the churchyard, near a cross
Half overgrown with grass and moss,
She rests in quiet.
The castle's lord is dead and gone:
The walls are falling stone by stone:
Only the ivy there doth moan
When winds run riot.
Half overgrown with grass and moss,
She rests in quiet.
The castle's lord is dead and gone:
The walls are falling stone by stone:
Only the ivy there doth moan
When winds run riot.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |