 | Idyls and Songs |  |
9
IV. AS YOU LIKE IT.
Alice read, one summer's day,Fragments of an oft-read play;
Scenes of cheerful woodland hue,
Jest and sunshine slanting through;
Alleys worn by gamesome feet:
Carols in a green retreat:
Love in earnest, thought in jest:
Wisdom's self as Folly drest:
Till her happy accents alter'd,
And in half-pretence she falter'd
Archly whispering, ‘I can see
That the tale has wearied thee;
Should I lay the leaves aside?’
‘As you like it—so’—I cried,
Half-reluctant to repress
Or own her gay capriciousness:
First she closed the leaves: and then
Smiled, and open'd them again;
Then in accents calmer, sweeter,
For the deepening story meeter,
Read the blithesome sweet lament
Of Rosalind in banishment:
Of Aliena's soft complaining:
Of Orlando's happy feigning;
Through the mazes of his garden
Tracking Love in cheerful Arden.
On she went, as though in fear
Some she knew not what was near:
Startling as surprised to find
Huntsmen coming up behind.
10
Cheeks are flush'd, and then are pale:
Roses red and roses fair
Budded, bloom'd, and faded there;—
Till the gentle hand I took,
Yielded free from word or look,
Whispering: ‘Would'st thou fly with me,
Mine own Rosalind to be?
Mine to solace and to bless
In such a woodland wilderness?’
Ah that whisper'd faint reply!
‘As you like it: Thine am I.’
Ah, that lightly flutter'd breast!
Ah, the smile of love confest!
—Mighty minstrel, in thine heart
Sure my Rosalind had part;
Long hast thou my solace been;
Long in thee the Past I've seen,
Summon'd up from cave and cell
By thy wonder-working spell:
But henceforth I'll read my story
In the records of thy glory,
And for ever shall there be
Prophecies for Love in thee.
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