The bard, and minor poems By John Walker Ord ... Collected and edited by John Lodge |
 |
|
| I. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
THE TRYSTING-PLACE REVISITED. |
|
|
|
 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
THE TRYSTING-PLACE REVISITED.
It is the self-same dwelling,
It is the self-same tree;
The self-same streamlet swelling
Its notes for thee and me.
It is the self-same tree;
The self-same streamlet swelling
Its notes for thee and me.
Thus was the sun at even,
The clouds all golden-bright:
Thus to the gates of heaven
The sky-lark caroll'd light.
The clouds all golden-bright:
Thus to the gates of heaven
The sky-lark caroll'd light.
The furze, the broom, the heather,
And every floweret there,
Perfumed the summer weather
With fragrance rich and rare.
And every floweret there,
Perfumed the summer weather
With fragrance rich and rare.
Even thus we sat, fair maiden,
Even thus thy gentle eyes,
With love and pity laden,
Were kindled by my sighs.
Even thus thy gentle eyes,
With love and pity laden,
Were kindled by my sighs.
193
The star, in midnight splendour,
Shone not so pure and strong;
And oh, that voice so tender,
Outmatch'd the linnet's song!
Shone not so pure and strong;
And oh, that voice so tender,
Outmatch'd the linnet's song!
Dim years have past before thee,—
What sorrow has been thine!
But still I must adore thee,
For still thou art divine.
What sorrow has been thine!
But still I must adore thee,
For still thou art divine.
Oh, madness, that we parted,
Or slander should prevail:
Two lovers broken-hearted,
Now tell the mournful tale.
Or slander should prevail:
Two lovers broken-hearted,
Now tell the mournful tale.
Alas! the piteous story—
They bore her o'er the sea;
Who wert my life—my glory,
The universe to me!
They bore her o'er the sea;
Who wert my life—my glory,
The universe to me!
My tears have wet the pillow,
My sighing fill'd the night,
Whilst o'er the rolling billow
They swept thee from my sight.
My sighing fill'd the night,
Whilst o'er the rolling billow
They swept thee from my sight.
In morn's deceitful slumber
Thy vision lit mine eyes,
With beauties that outnumber
The treasures of the skies.
Thy vision lit mine eyes,
With beauties that outnumber
The treasures of the skies.
194
The change that stirr'd the ocean,
And stript each forest tree,
Quench'd not my soul's emotion
The love I bore to thee.
And stript each forest tree,
Quench'd not my soul's emotion
The love I bore to thee.
All matchless is thy beauty,
As in the summers gone:
Immoveable in duty,
My vows are still thine own.
As in the summers gone:
Immoveable in duty,
My vows are still thine own.
And thus, beloved daughter
Of gods! (for so thou art:)
I'll spill my blood like water
Ere thou and I shall part.
Of gods! (for so thou art:)
I'll spill my blood like water
Ere thou and I shall part.
| The bard, and minor poems | |