The Legend of St. Loy With Other Poems. By John Abraham Heraud |
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The Legend of St. Loy | ||
62
XII.
“Behold me now—what need I tell,“This was the calm secluded Cell?
“My Daughter seen not to this hour,
“I left my halls, my wealth, my power,
“Far distant hence.—Now thrice the sun
“His annual course through heaven hath run,
“And from his high and orbed throne,
“Beheld me 'mid these wilds alone,
“In simple eremite array,
“With crooked staff, and amice grey—
“Or with my beechen cup severe,
“My maple dish of humble fare—
“Or tending, in a pensive mood,
“The flowers that grace my solitude,
“And round the oak, and o'er my cell,
“Teaching the ivy flexible
“Quaintly her wreathy arms to twine,
“At Fancy's most fantastic shrine;
“While, from the gadding spray along,
“The blackbird loudly trills his song,
“And while the widowed turtles wail,
“And sweetly mourn their amorous tale;—
63
“Ascends the stockdove's dying dirge;
“And as to her sad notes and wild
“I list by sympathy beguiled,
“Perchance, of that thrice hallowed Well,
“Whose waters, charmed with holy spell,
“And dedicate to thee St. Loy,
“Can many a malady destroy,
“Some victim sad of sickness' seal
“May at the blessed margin kneel,
“And from my willing hand receive
“The sacred crystal's healing wave.”
The Legend of St. Loy | ||