University of Virginia Library

Ring softly out, sweet chapel bells,
Upon the summer air,
Ring softly, for the bridal dawn
O'er Heaven is breaking fair,
The bride is blushing like a rose
And the wedding guests are there;
And in Lord Ronald's castle
Is feasting high and free,
Thrice welcome all that will to share
Its cheer and revelry:
“There is no hand like Ronald's,”
So sang the minstrels all,
“There is no eye like Ronald's
To light up bower or hall;
There is no smile like Ronald's
Though now it is not gay,
The sunshine will be off our souls
When once it is away;
Strike high the merry harps; let none
Undrained the wine-cup leave;
Speed, Ronald, speed! when Thou art gone
Is time enough to grieve!”

“There is no smile like Ronald's,”
The truest, tenderest heart
That keenest feels the wound, can still
The best abide the smart;
There is no smile like Ronald's,
Although his lip be wan,—
Slow spake the Priest, “Who giveth now
This woman to this man?”
“I,” said Lord Ronald, in his own
Her lily hand he took
But let it fall again, it seemed
As then his spirit shook
'Twixt life and death, so wild his eye,
So ashen grew his look;
“Look to the noble Ronald,
He falls;” but swift and fain
The quick blood mustered to his cheek,
“'Twas but a sudden pain”
He said, and slowly raised his hand
To take the Bride's again;
But in the set, stern tones, that none
May hear and disallow,
Broke Henry in “Forbear, let all
Withdraw—sweet bride and thou—
This is no place for thee! look well
Unto her;” with a sign
He bade them hence; “Now, Brother, none
Betwixt my soul and thine
Shall come but God! the dead beneath,
The holy Heavens above,
These will not come to trouble truth
Or stand between our Love;
Take back thy fatal gift! for me
All joy in it is lost;
The price of blood is on it, now
That I have learnt its cost!
I would not seek to build my bower
With wrecks of ocean wave,
Or wear upon my breast the flower
That grew upon a grave;
Take back thy fatal gift; for me
More cold than spectre-kiss
Would ever come the thought of thee
Betwixt me and my bliss;
Would, brother, that thy soul had dealt
More true with mine in this!
I never sought for Sybil's love,
My own was still unspoken,
It asked not, gave not, ever sign
In word, or outward token,
Until thou saidest “She is thine.”
Then all at once the strife
Was over, and at last it breathed
The happy breath of life;
My heart was fond and credulous,
Thy light words made it err,
Fool, fool, to deem that any thus
Unmoved, could part with her!
Still “Ronald of the open hand”
Thy vassals cry with pride,
Let them not say, “He gave away
All, even to his Bride.”
Let me go to the wars, if thus
I may my spirit shrive
Of having pained the noblest heart,
The truest one alive!”

Then Ronald strained him to his breast,
And from his clear blue eye
There looked a light that told of rest
That comes through mastery;
And on his lip there was a smile,
And in his voice a tone
That was not joy, yet something more
Than it hath ever known;
“Grieve not for me, dear brother, would
That now my lip could drain
For ever from thy earthly cup
The lingering taste of pain;
Yet weak is mortal power to bless,
Though strong is human love;
The gifts that have no bitterness
Are only from above!
Grieve not for hurt of mine; I find
Thy brother-heart was true,
The poison now is drawn, the wound
Will not bleed forth anew;
Two are there I have loved on earth,
They love me, they are blest;
Still, still unto myself I keep
The thing I prize the best!”