 | Poems of home and travel |  |
197
AN HOUR.
I've left the keen, cold winds to blow
Around the summits bare;
My sunny pathway to the sea
Leads downward, green and fair,
Where leaves and blossoms toss and glow
Amid the southern air.
Around the summits bare;
My sunny pathway to the sea
Leads downward, green and fair,
Where leaves and blossoms toss and glow
Amid the southern air.
The fern its fragrant plumage droops
O'er mosses crisp and gray,
Where on the shaded crags I sit,
Beside the cataract's spray,
And watch the far-off, shining sails
Go down the gleaming bay.
O'er mosses crisp and gray,
Where on the shaded crags I sit,
Beside the cataract's spray,
And watch the far-off, shining sails
Go down the gleaming bay.
198
I've left the wintry winds of life
On barren hearts to blow—
The anguish and the gnawing care,
The torture and the woe!
I sail the sunny sea of dreams
Where'er its winds may blow.
On barren hearts to blow—
The anguish and the gnawing care,
The torture and the woe!
I sail the sunny sea of dreams
Where'er its winds may blow.
Away! away! I hear the horn
Among the hills of Spain:
The old, chivalric glory fires
Her warrior hearts again:
Ho! how their banners light the morn
Along Granada's plain!
Among the hills of Spain:
The old, chivalric glory fires
Her warrior hearts again:
Ho! how their banners light the morn
Along Granada's plain!
I hear the hymns of holy faith
The red Crusaders sang,
And the silver horn of Ronçeval,
That o'er the tecbir rang,
When prince and kaiser through the fray
To the dying paladin sprang.
The red Crusaders sang,
And the silver horn of Ronçeval,
That o'er the tecbir rang,
When prince and kaiser through the fray
To the dying paladin sprang.
A beam of burning light I hold,
My good Damascus brand,
And the jet-black charger that I ride
Was foaled in the Arab land,
And a hundred horsemen, mailed in steel,
Follow at my command!
My good Damascus brand,
199
Was foaled in the Arab land,
And a hundred horsemen, mailed in steel,
Follow at my command!
Through royal cities goes our march;
The minster-bells are rung;
The trumpets give a lordly peal,
The battle-flags are swung,
And lips of lovely ladies praise
The chieftain, brave and young.
The minster-bells are rung;
The trumpets give a lordly peal,
The battle-flags are swung,
And lips of lovely ladies praise
The chieftain, brave and young.
And now, in soft Provençal bowers,
A minstrel-knight am I:
A gentle bosom on my own
Throbs back its ecstasy;
A cheek, as fair as the almond flowers,
Thrills to my lip's reply.
A minstrel-knight am I:
A gentle bosom on my own
Throbs back its ecstasy;
A cheek, as fair as the almond flowers,
Thrills to my lip's reply.
I tread the fanes of wondrous Rome,
Crowned with immortal bay,
And myriads crowd the Capitol
To hear my lofty lay,
While, sounding o'er the Tiber's foam,
Their shoutings peal away.
Crowned with immortal bay,
And myriads crowd the Capitol
To hear my lofty lay,
While, sounding o'er the Tiber's foam,
Their shoutings peal away.
200
O, triumph such as this were worth
The Poet's doom of pain,
Whose hours are brazen on the earth,
But golden in the brain:
I close the starry Gate of Dreams,
And walk the dust again.
The Poet's doom of pain,
Whose hours are brazen on the earth,
But golden in the brain:
I close the starry Gate of Dreams,
And walk the dust again.
| Poems of home and travel | |