 | Prismatics |  |
THE LOCKET: AN ANCIENT BALLAD.
AND thrice her lily-hand he wrung,
And kissed her lip so sweet;
Then, by the mane and stirrup, swung
Himself into his seat.
And as he galloped through the town,
He said, “Though we must part,
May Heaven prove false to me, if I
Prove false to thee, sweetheart.”
And kissed her lip so sweet;
Then, by the mane and stirrup, swung
Himself into his seat.
And as he galloped through the town,
He said, “Though we must part,
May Heaven prove false to me, if I
Prove false to thee, sweetheart.”
172
Then by a silken string he drew
A locket quaint and old;
The ore and braid, with leaves inlaid,
Shone like a marigold.
He sighed amain; then touched the spring;
Aside he brushed a tear;
Smiled out; quoth he, “This pledge may bring
A cradle or a bier.”
Beneath a leaden, murderous sky,
The roaring cannons glow;
With thunderous wound they scar the ground,
While loud the trumpets blow:
The air is filled with bloody foam,
The sward is torn and wet
By ball, and shot, and corpse, and clot,
And deadly bayonet.
But where yon band the foeman dares,
The noblest, bravest, best,
Is he who in the battle bears
A locket on his breast.
He cheers them on! A bullet speeds!
“What means that sudden start?”
The mark! (the locket and the braid,)
Is driven in his heart.
A locket quaint and old;
The ore and braid, with leaves inlaid,
Shone like a marigold.
He sighed amain; then touched the spring;
Aside he brushed a tear;
Smiled out; quoth he, “This pledge may bring
A cradle or a bier.”
Beneath a leaden, murderous sky,
The roaring cannons glow;
With thunderous wound they scar the ground,
While loud the trumpets blow:
The air is filled with bloody foam,
The sward is torn and wet
By ball, and shot, and corpse, and clot,
And deadly bayonet.
But where yon band the foeman dares,
The noblest, bravest, best,
Is he who in the battle bears
A locket on his breast.
He cheers them on! A bullet speeds!
“What means that sudden start?”
The mark! (the locket and the braid,)
Is driven in his heart.
173
They buried him, at vesper bell,
The red kirk-wall beside;
The mossed kirk tolled another knell,
When there they bore his bride:
And thrice an hundred years have flown;
Yet what care they or we?
“So here's to him, the gallant knight,
And to his fair ladye.”
The red kirk-wall beside;
The mossed kirk tolled another knell,
When there they bore his bride:
And thrice an hundred years have flown;
Yet what care they or we?
“So here's to him, the gallant knight,
And to his fair ladye.”
Blank Page
| Prismatics | |