University of Virginia Library

“Come, cross my hand with the silver white,
Fair youth, and I will bring,
From the future's realm of hidden night,
The secret, the unknown thing—
For mine's a wild and a wondrous art,
And I've a fearful power,
I know the springs of the silent heart,
And I search the coming hour.”
He cross'd her hand and her deep black eye,
Was fixed upon his own,
And in her face was a majesty,
And in every look a tone.
The colour has fled from his cheek but now!
And his look is wild and his heart beats low.
“Fond hopes,” she said, and her brow grew sad,
“Vain dreams now fill thine eye,
And thy breast is lit with many a glad
Rich thought of ecstasy.
I mark a changing streak of red,
Upon thy cheek, that now,
Even as I speak the word, has fled
To crimson o'er thy brow.—
'Tis the mark of a deadly passion traced,
So deep that it will be,
A weary time ere age-effaced,
That token shall fly from thee.
I mark the curling lip of pride,
I mark the eye of scorn,
I see hopes seen by none beside,
Defeated and forlorn.

And in my spirit's prophecy,
I tell thee, fair youth, beware,
For thy hope shall bring no joy to thee,
And thy joy shall awaken care.”
“Nay tell me not of a thing so dark,
But from thy skill unfold,
The evil that comes, with a certain mark,
That its strength may be controll'd.”
“'Twere all in vain to tell thee when
The passionate pang will rise,
For it blinds the eyes of mortal men,
And they may not then be wise;
But this I may say, for before my sight,
Much of the future stands in light.”
“Speak on what thou see'st, I cannot fear.
Give the dark truth to my eager ear.”
“I see a light within a bow'r,
I see a bark at sea,—
From the one thou bear'st a blushing flow'r,
Which the other bears from thee.
I see thee fly to distant lands,
And many there are who bow,
But none may do thy fierce commands,
And bring what thou lovest now.
And thou wilt wander wan and wild,
The light of thy reason almost gone,
Now helpless as the unweaned child,
Now desolate and lone.
And thou wilt call and none will hear,
Tho' often times a sound,
Like music that's fled will reach thine ear,
And thou wilt look around.
Yet even thy wild and wanton eye,
That sees what may not be,

Will fail, though much it may espy,
That single thing to see.
“And now the bower again is bright,
And the one more lovely still,
Within that bower, by evening's light
Awaits till the night grows chill.
The bark is waiting by the sea,
And the idly flapping sail,
Seems, for its stay, reproaching thee
As it tempts the fresh'ning gale.
The morrow dawns and thou art gone,
The slave of thy passions then,
But thou'lt return alone, alone,—
And we—shall meet again?”
“Nay, more, nay more,” the young knight cried,
But the maid was gone, that, by his side,
Had muttered the perilous tale of time,
Of many a sorrow and many a crime.
But the tale in after days was sooth,
For much the young knight learnt of truth,
And thus he sung, as he left the maid,
To go with the king on the far crusade—
“Tis the red-cross that is streaming
O'er the thousands of the brave,
Who, of victory now dreaming,
Are about to cross the wave—
But the glory shines in seeming,
And they go but to the grave!
“Oh! Europe, in thy story,
I do not care to shine—
Tis not in search of glory,
That I leave this land of thine—
And in the savage foray,
Be that early fortune mine.

“'Tis not for me benighted,
By hopes for ever vain
To pine, with feelings blighted,
Beneath a woman's chain—
From all thus disunited,
Maddelle, I'm free again.
“Thus do I proudly sever,
The bonds that would enslave,
I break the spell for ever,
Though I break them in the grave—
The Red-cross Knight must never,
Be a fickle woman's slave.”
But the fate of the young knight foster'd well;—
He stood the shock of the Infidel—
But a trial more sad in the loss of fame,
In the future hours upon him came;
And the gipsy girl stood by his castle strong,
And the gloomy Almys thus heard her song.
“Thy sunny hours are o'er,
Thy glories are no more,
And the majesty and power have departed from thy brow;—
Of the crowds that to thee knelt,
Of the few that with thee felt,
There is not one remaining to give thee welcome now.
A stranger in thy halls,
The dark shadow on thy walls,
Is the only sole companion that thy fortune leaves to thee;—
No vassal comes to wait,
In the absence of thy state,
And the hollow chambers give thee back thy footsteps dismally.
But thy heart's unshrinking pride,
Though the rabble may deride,
And thy undiminished spirit, is within thee as of yore,

When in thy young renown,
Thou hast struck the foeman down,
And the hero fled before thy stroke who never fled before.
Oh, then thy name was high,
And when lofty dames were nigh,
And the bright saloon re-echoed to the gentle and the fair,
Did prophetic fortune come,
To portray the future doom,
And show thy haughty spirit all, the sad reverse so near.
Now, no saloon is bright,
In the revelry of night—
No minstrel sounds the welcome for the beautiful and brave;
Thy purple robe is worn,
And thy nodding plume is torn,
And soiled and trodden in the dust the scarf that beauty gave.
Thy banner waves no more,
Thy victories are o'er,
And the lips that bless'd thee once do not whisper now thy name.
And perished is the thought,
Of all thy arm has wrought,
And tarnish'd by the mean and base thy well-won wreath of fame.
But the loss of fame is nought,
To thy bosom's deeper thought,
And the only word of misery which thou hast uttered yet,
Is, that with thy name of pride,
All affections too have died,
And the maid that pledged so much to thee, should also all forget.
In thy anguish thou hast rung,
The dread secret from thy tongue,
And the hollow chambers give thee back the false one's name once more;
Thou hast left the gloomy hall,
Thou art on the hanging wall,
God of mercy, yield thee grace, for thy earthly time is o'er.”