The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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| XXXVIII. | XXXVIII. FOXGLOVE |
 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
438
XXXVIII. FOXGLOVE
There hangs a picture in an ancient hall:
A groop of hunters meeting in their joy
On a green lawn; the gladdest of them all
Is old Sir Geoffrey's heir, a bright-eyed boy
A little girl has heard the bugle call,
And she is running from her task or toy
To whisper caution: on the pony bounds,
And see, my First steals off before the hounds.
A groop of hunters meeting in their joy
On a green lawn; the gladdest of them all
Is old Sir Geoffrey's heir, a bright-eyed boy
A little girl has heard the bugle call,
And she is running from her task or toy
To whisper caution: on the pony bounds,
And see, my First steals off before the hounds.
There is another picture;—that wild youth
Is grown to manhood; by the great salt lake
He clasps his new sword on; and gentle Ruth
Smiles, smiles and sobs, as if her heart would break.
And talks right well of constancy and truth,
And bids him keep my Second for her sake,—
A precious pledge that, wander where he will,
One heart will think and dream about him still.
Is grown to manhood; by the great salt lake
He clasps his new sword on; and gentle Ruth
Smiles, smiles and sobs, as if her heart would break.
And talks right well of constancy and truth,
And bids him keep my Second for her sake,—
A precious pledge that, wander where he will,
One heart will think and dream about him still.
439
And yet another picture; from far lands
The truant is returned; but ah, his bride,
Sickness hath marred her beauty! mute he stands,
Mute in the darkened chamber by her side;
And brings the medicine, sweetest from those hands,
Still whispering hope which she would check or chide.
Doth the charmed cup recall the fainting soul
E'en from Death's grasp? Oh! blessings on my Whole!
The truant is returned; but ah, his bride,
Sickness hath marred her beauty! mute he stands,
Mute in the darkened chamber by her side;
And brings the medicine, sweetest from those hands,
Still whispering hope which she would check or chide.
Doth the charmed cup recall the fainting soul
E'en from Death's grasp? Oh! blessings on my Whole!
1831.
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |