 | Poems |  |
117
THE WARRIOR'S FAREWELL.
Morning and spring-time in opening pride,
The warrior on through the wild wood doth ride;
And mortal never beheld, I ween,
A lovelier hour, nor a lovelier scene.
The warrior on through the wild wood doth ride;
And mortal never beheld, I ween,
A lovelier hour, nor a lovelier scene.
The reddening sun just stains his plume,
The morning breeze gives forth perfume;
The lark his brilliant eye uncloses,
And sings réveillez to the roses!
The morning breeze gives forth perfume;
The lark his brilliant eye uncloses,
And sings réveillez to the roses!
Slowly and sadly the warrior went,
And his eye was fixed and his brow was bent;
For his mournful task was to bid farewell
To the stately and gentle Isabelle!
And his eye was fixed and his brow was bent;
For his mournful task was to bid farewell
To the stately and gentle Isabelle!
118
And the rich skies were reddening around him in vain,
And little recked he of the lark's joyous strain;
No glance for beauty hath that fixed eye—
That heart hath no echoes for melody!
And little recked he of the lark's joyous strain;
No glance for beauty hath that fixed eye—
That heart hath no echoes for melody!
Of cramoisie and the glistering gold
Was his broidered scarf's resplendent fold;
Some precious love-gift it seemed to shine—
Ah, gentle Isabelle!—was it thine?
Was his broidered scarf's resplendent fold;
Some precious love-gift it seemed to shine—
Ah, gentle Isabelle!—was it thine?
The warrior on through the wild wood doth ride,
Till before him a castle frowns dark in its pride;
From his saddle-bow he upraises his eyes—
Away! and away! like the arrow he flies!
Till before him a castle frowns dark in its pride;
From his saddle-bow he upraises his eyes—
Away! and away! like the arrow he flies!
Now he checks his fierce charger's foamy speed—
Now he leaps from that proudly caparisoned steed;
A soft smile through his gladdened soul doth dart—
A sweet voice hath melted along his heart!
Now he leaps from that proudly caparisoned steed;
A soft smile through his gladdened soul doth dart—
A sweet voice hath melted along his heart!
119
Hath that heart no echoes for melody now—
That eye no glance for sweet beauty's glow?
Ah! 'twas that one image, too deeply impressed,
Had excluded—effaced—all else from his breast!
That eye no glance for sweet beauty's glow?
Ah! 'twas that one image, too deeply impressed,
Had excluded—effaced—all else from his breast!
Fleetly flew by those enchanted hours:
No festival-pomp, midst palace bowers,
E'er sped the moments so breathlessly,
As, winged by passion, they lightened by!
No festival-pomp, midst palace bowers,
E'er sped the moments so breathlessly,
As, winged by passion, they lightened by!
But hark! 'tis the sound of a trampling host—
Each moment now is a moment lost.
Ah! what agonizing looks they cast,
Who know each look should be the last!
Each moment now is a moment lost.
Ah! what agonizing looks they cast,
Who know each look should be the last!
'Tis the sweeping of the banner's fold—
'Tis the bugle of battle shrill and bold—
'Tis the warrior's shout!—'tis the charger's clang—
Short space have ye on that hand to hang.
'Tis the bugle of battle shrill and bold—
'Tis the warrior's shout!—'tis the charger's clang—
Short space have ye on that hand to hang.
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Mount! mount, young knight! thy war-horse waits—
Ride forth! ride ye forth from the castle gates;
'Mongst England's flower of chivalry,
The foremost, as thou'rt the stateliest, be!
Ride forth! ride ye forth from the castle gates;
'Mongst England's flower of chivalry,
The foremost, as thou'rt the stateliest, be!
He leaps on his neighing war-steed now!
He dashes the dark hair from his brow!
Doth he dash the tears from his treacherous eyes,
As he murmurs farewell midst repressless sighs?
He dashes the dark hair from his brow!
Doth he dash the tears from his treacherous eyes,
As he murmurs farewell midst repressless sighs?
The voice!—that sweet voice—from his heart
Mournfully now doth melt and part!
No more may his ear on its echoes dwell—
He must hear the fierce battle-thunders swell.
Mournfully now doth melt and part!
No more may his ear on its echoes dwell—
He must hear the fierce battle-thunders swell.
Yet where the battle-thunders roar
Loudest, like billows that burst on the shore—
It shall rise—it shall pierce through the trumpet's breath,
And lead him to victory—or to death!
Loudest, like billows that burst on the shore—
It shall rise—it shall pierce through the trumpet's breath,
And lead him to victory—or to death!
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