The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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LORENZO. |
 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
179
LORENZO.
“Lorenzo pines in dungeon gloom,
In chains my gallant lover lies,
A tyrant has pronounced his doom,
To-morrow he is free—or dies!
O Love! if thou hast power below,
Or favour where the angels dwell,
Protect thy maiden votary now—
Jesu Maria! shield me well!”
In chains my gallant lover lies,
A tyrant has pronounced his doom,
To-morrow he is free—or dies!
O Love! if thou hast power below,
Or favour where the angels dwell,
Protect thy maiden votary now—
Jesu Maria! shield me well!”
The maiden doffs her robe of white,
And clothes her in the priestly stole,
Binds back her locks of auburn bright,
And mutters prayers which save the soul.
The prison portals open wide,—
The holy father seeks the cell—
Lorenzo sees his destined bride—
Jesu Maria! shield her well!
And clothes her in the priestly stole,
Binds back her locks of auburn bright,
And mutters prayers which save the soul.
The prison portals open wide,—
The holy father seeks the cell—
Lorenzo sees his destined bride—
Jesu Maria! shield her well!
180
Quickly these last sad moments fly,
The maiden's heart has much to say;
Lover! for thee she comes to die—
On with her cassock, and away!
Fly! for they come—thine hour draws near—
Already tolls thy warning knell!—
Too late, too late!—Oh words of fear!
Jesu Maria! shield them well!
The maiden's heart has much to say;
Lover! for thee she comes to die—
On with her cassock, and away!
Fly! for they come—thine hour draws near—
Already tolls thy warning knell!—
Too late, too late!—Oh words of fear!
Jesu Maria! shield them well!
“Lorenzo, they have seal'd our doom,
Together then we'll yield our breath,
We'll be companions in the tomb,
And love shall cheer the hour of death.”
Now hoarsely beats the muffled drum,
And slowly tolls the funeral bell;
Make way! the hapless victims come—
Jesu Maria! shield them well!
Together then we'll yield our breath,
We'll be companions in the tomb,
And love shall cheer the hour of death.”
Now hoarsely beats the muffled drum,
And slowly tolls the funeral bell;
Make way! the hapless victims come—
Jesu Maria! shield them well!
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |