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333
THE SPANISH MAID.
Five weary months sweet Inez numbered
From that unfading, bitter day
When last she heard the trumpet bray
That called her Isidore away,—
That never to her heart has slumbered.
From that unfading, bitter day
When last she heard the trumpet bray
That called her Isidore away,—
That never to her heart has slumbered.
She hears it now, and sees, far bending
Along the mountain's misty side,
His plumed troop, that, waving wide,
Seems like a rippling, feathery tide,
Now bright, now with the dim shore blending.
Along the mountain's misty side,
His plumed troop, that, waving wide,
Seems like a rippling, feathery tide,
Now bright, now with the dim shore blending.
She hears the cannon's deadly rattle,—
And fancy hurries on to strife,
And hears the drum and screaming fife
Mix with the last sad cry of life.
O, should he,—should he fall in battle!
And fancy hurries on to strife,
And hears the drum and screaming fife
Mix with the last sad cry of life.
O, should he,—should he fall in battle!
334
Yet still his name would live in story,
And every gallant bard in Spain
Would fight his battles o'er again.
And would she not for such a strain
Resign him to his country's glory?
And every gallant bard in Spain
Would fight his battles o'er again.
And would she not for such a strain
Resign him to his country's glory?
Thus Inez thought, and plucked the flower
That grew upon the very bank
Where first her ear bewildered drank
The plighted vow,—where last she sank
In that too bitter parting hour.
That grew upon the very bank
Where first her ear bewildered drank
The plighted vow,—where last she sank
In that too bitter parting hour.
But now the sun is westward sinking;
And soon, amid the purple haze
That showers from his slanting rays,
A thousand Loves there meet her gaze,
To change her high, heroic thinking.
And soon, amid the purple haze
That showers from his slanting rays,
A thousand Loves there meet her gaze,
To change her high, heroic thinking.
Then hope, with all its crowding fancies,
Before her flits and fills the air;
And, decked in Victory's glorious gear,
In vision Isidore is there.
Then how her heart 'mid sadness dances!
Before her flits and fills the air;
And, decked in Victory's glorious gear,
In vision Isidore is there.
Then how her heart 'mid sadness dances!
Yet little thought she, thus forestalling
The coming joy, that in that hour
The Future, like the colored shower
That seems to arch the ocean o'er,
Was in the living Present falling.
The coming joy, that in that hour
The Future, like the colored shower
That seems to arch the ocean o'er,
Was in the living Present falling.
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The foe is slain. His sable charger,
All flecked with foam, comes bounding on.
The wild Morena rings anon;
And on its brow the gallant Don
And gallant steed grow larger, larger;
All flecked with foam, comes bounding on.
The wild Morena rings anon;
And on its brow the gallant Don
And gallant steed grow larger, larger;
And now he nears the mountain-hollow;
The flowery bank and little lake
Now on his startled vision break,—
And Inez there.—He's not awake!
Yet how he'll love this dream to-morrow!
The flowery bank and little lake
Now on his startled vision break,—
And Inez there.—He's not awake!
Yet how he'll love this dream to-morrow!
But no,—he surely is not dreaming.
Another minute makes it clear.
A scream, a rush, a burning tear
From Inez' cheek, dispel the fear
That bliss like his is only seeming.
Another minute makes it clear.
A scream, a rush, a burning tear
From Inez' cheek, dispel the fear
That bliss like his is only seeming.
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