 | English melodies |  |
265
THE LADYE ARABELLE.
The hall is bright with song and light,
The dancers fair as youth can make them;
And fortune's bowers, so rich in flowers,
They seem but born to choose—and take them!
Yet, no! there's one who pines alone
Amid the joys that round her dwell—
She sits apart with aching heart—
The lovely Ladye Arabelle!
The dancers fair as youth can make them;
And fortune's bowers, so rich in flowers,
They seem but born to choose—and take them!
Yet, no! there's one who pines alone
Amid the joys that round her dwell—
She sits apart with aching heart—
The lovely Ladye Arabelle!
A voice is near that chills her ear—
A phantom-voice, for ever sighing,
“Rise, maiden, rise!—thy lover lies
Low on the forest pathway dying!
The hand that slew thy lover true
Now wears a ring, thou'lt know full well!”
—She's up and fled!—to find the dead!
The lovely Ladye Arabelle.
A phantom-voice, for ever sighing,
“Rise, maiden, rise!—thy lover lies
Low on the forest pathway dying!
The hand that slew thy lover true
Now wears a ring, thou'lt know full well!”
—She's up and fled!—to find the dead!
The lovely Ladye Arabelle.
266
All dark she found the forest ground—
The phantom-voice was still beside her;
Amidst the storm there gleam'd a form—
A spectre hand that seem'd to guide her!
A murder'd knight at morning light
Was found—but none, alas! may tell
The madd'ning care, the wild despair
Of lovely Ladye Arabelle.
The phantom-voice was still beside her;
Amidst the storm there gleam'd a form—
A spectre hand that seem'd to guide her!
A murder'd knight at morning light
Was found—but none, alas! may tell
The madd'ning care, the wild despair
Of lovely Ladye Arabelle.
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