Idyls and Songs by Francis Turner Palgrave: 1848-1854 |
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| XXX. | XXX.
THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN.
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| LXXX. |
| LXXXII. |
 | Idyls and Songs |  |
77
XXX. THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN.
BALLAD.
Lord Gregory heard the raindrops plash,
He heard the roof-tree groaning;
He heard the salt-sea billows crash:
But he heard not his true love moaning.
He heard the roof-tree groaning;
He heard the salt-sea billows crash:
But he heard not his true love moaning.
‘Open the Castle door’ she cried,
‘To Lochroyan's shame and sorrow:
To your own true love and the babe at her side,
That should be born the morrow.’
‘To Lochroyan's shame and sorrow:
To your own true love and the babe at her side,
That should be born the morrow.’
‘Oh hear ye not a maiden's sighs,
And a babe's slow smother'd ailing?’—
—But his mother laugh'd—‘'Tis the wind that cries
Between the casements wailing.’
And a babe's slow smother'd ailing?’—
—But his mother laugh'd—‘'Tis the wind that cries
Between the casements wailing.’
—The salt weeds heave 'neath the Castle rock,
And the light on the ripples is leaping—
Oh woe's the day—the wild waves play,
But they stir not Lochroyan's sleeping.
And the light on the ripples is leaping—
Oh woe's the day—the wild waves play,
But they stir not Lochroyan's sleeping.
And the salt weeds spread her oozy bed
'Neath the long low breezes moaning:
And they tangle o'er the bairn she bore
All in her hour of groaning.
'Neath the long low breezes moaning:
And they tangle o'er the bairn she bore
All in her hour of groaning.
Lord Gregory gazed from the turret at morn,
He kenn'd the billows' heaving:
And is it his own true Maiden's form,
Or is it love's deceiving?
He kenn'd the billows' heaving:
And is it his own true Maiden's form,
Or is it love's deceiving?
78
‘Lochroyan—Lochroyan! 'tis I!’ he cried;
‘I see her bosom heaving:’
But when he press'd her wave-cold breast
He knew 'twas love's deceiving.
‘I see her bosom heaving:’
But when he press'd her wave-cold breast
He knew 'twas love's deceiving.
And his mother laugh'd the laugh of scorn,
Fair Annie's fingers grasping:—
And Lord Gregory kenn'd that his true love's hand
An infant's hand was clasping.
Fair Annie's fingers grasping:—
And Lord Gregory kenn'd that his true love's hand
An infant's hand was clasping.
And he sigh'd out his life on the sighing air—
‘She died as she lived in meekness—
But woe to the woman who would not spare
A woman's hour of weakness!’
‘She died as she lived in meekness—
But woe to the woman who would not spare
A woman's hour of weakness!’
| Idyls and Songs | |