The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird Fifth Edition: With a Memoir by the Rev. Jardine Wallace |
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| II. |
| III. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird |  |
III.
“And fear not, weep not, Love!” thus fondly said
The Captive's farewell to his Moorish maid,
As in the sweetness of the twilight hour
They sate together in a garden bower:
'Twas ere he went to battle. “Down amain
If we Zemberbo smite, to thee again
I'll come; and I will take thee from this shore,
Light of my life! the dark-blue waters o'er,
To banks of beauty, where the Tagus roves
Through the long summer of his orange groves.
And when thou turn'st thee to the southern star,
And think'st upon thy native home afar,
Thou shalt not weep; I have thee by the hand,
My heart is thine, my land shall be thy land.
I feel, I feel my love's unbounded debt!
May God forget me when I thee forget!”
The Captive's farewell to his Moorish maid,
As in the sweetness of the twilight hour
They sate together in a garden bower:
'Twas ere he went to battle. “Down amain
If we Zemberbo smite, to thee again
I'll come; and I will take thee from this shore,
Light of my life! the dark-blue waters o'er,
To banks of beauty, where the Tagus roves
Through the long summer of his orange groves.
182
And think'st upon thy native home afar,
Thou shalt not weep; I have thee by the hand,
My heart is thine, my land shall be thy land.
I feel, I feel my love's unbounded debt!
May God forget me when I thee forget!”
“No, no,” said Geraldine; “it must not be!
Risk not the fight, come not again to me!
My sisters, and my brother, who but I
Must watch them for our mother in the sky?
She bade me love them well, she bade me make them
The lambs of Christ; how then can I forsake them?
Yet in this hour I'll say it,—dear, O Youth,
Art thou to me for thy heroic truth,
Far more than thrones, and crowns, and kingly brows!
Sweet Prince, beyond what female grace allows,
Think me not light and bold; but all my life
I'd love to be thy true and faithful wife.
It cannot be. But hark!” She softly said,
And to her Julian bent her beauteous head.
Was it to whisper? Or his cheek to touch
With hers so soft? How little, yet how much!
'Twas nature's holy kiss! No sooner paid,
Than forth away she flitted through the shade.
Risk not the fight, come not again to me!
My sisters, and my brother, who but I
Must watch them for our mother in the sky?
She bade me love them well, she bade me make them
The lambs of Christ; how then can I forsake them?
Yet in this hour I'll say it,—dear, O Youth,
Art thou to me for thy heroic truth,
Far more than thrones, and crowns, and kingly brows!
Sweet Prince, beyond what female grace allows,
Think me not light and bold; but all my life
I'd love to be thy true and faithful wife.
It cannot be. But hark!” She softly said,
And to her Julian bent her beauteous head.
Was it to whisper? Or his cheek to touch
With hers so soft? How little, yet how much!
'Twas nature's holy kiss! No sooner paid,
Than forth away she flitted through the shade.
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Aird | |