XXV.
Expiring the last note, at once
The gipsey sang, in sweet response:
SONG.
1
“I knew a maiden, a brunette
The cottag'd Tamar's pride:
Her glossy locks were black as jet;
Her eyes with the day-star vied.
To her was mid-summer full dear—
Its evening how blended with pleasure and fear.
2
It was on that thrice-hallowed eve,
When the haunted hour drew nigh,
Her growing terror to relieve,
She did talk to herself and sigh!
The church-clock was ready to tell thro' the gloom,
That the moment of spectres, pale midnight was come!
3
To hasten from beneath the thatch
Where twinkled her light of rush,
With a shaking hand she uplifted the latch,
And, gliding by the hawthorn bush,
The church-yard she reach'd, and she hung on the yew
What would say, if her sailor were treacherous or true.
4
Her orpine on the yew she hung,
And look'd with a fearful eye:
But chain'd in silence was her tongue,
And pent in her bosom the sigh:
And, blancht in the beam of the glittering north-star,
Her face—it resembled the cheek of despair.
5
The moon now breaking thro' a cloud,
She ran to a recent grave:
She had heard, ere she saw him in his shroud,
The lover in madness rave!
And she kiss'd the grass-turf, and with lilies entwin'd,
And whisper'd, “So faithful my love may I find!”
6
And last did she the charm'd seed sow;
And her quivering voice died on my ear—
Ah! scarce could it utter: “my true love shall mow!”
When, shuddering as if she had seen him appear,
And starting, as if from the stride of a ghost,
She fell on the sward, and her senses were lost.
7
But if the girls my skill would try,
As from a ghost they need not start!
Into their secrets as I pry,
They will not dread a gipsey's art.
Every doubt it is mine, my sweet maid! to compose,
And e'en to unravel a dream of the rose.”
