Glimpses of Antiquity Being a collection of metrical sketches, in the form of ballads, lyrics, &c., with main reference to mediaeval times or classical subjects. By George F. Preston [i.e. J. B. L. Warren] |
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THE FORSAKEN SHEPHERDESS. |
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 | Glimpses of Antiquity |  |
45
THE FORSAKEN SHEPHERDESS.
Linus, my love, is flown,
My flocks are shepherdless—my ewes untended!
I'll weep! and weep alone,
Linus, whose form with that of Gods contended,
Linus, whose grace half envying Heaven offended,
Hath left me here to weep.
My flocks are shepherdless—my ewes untended!
I'll weep! and weep alone,
Linus, whose form with that of Gods contended,
Linus, whose grace half envying Heaven offended,
Hath left me here to weep.
Woe, woe! my garland fair
Is withered with unkindness, winter-blighted;
Once fostered with sweet air,
That was his smile wherein I most delighted,
A radiant light-flood on my soul benighted!
My garland was his love!
Is withered with unkindness, winter-blighted;
Once fostered with sweet air,
That was his smile wherein I most delighted,
A radiant light-flood on my soul benighted!
My garland was his love!
Ye lank and breeze-vext rushes,
Have ye not heard him wooing me his bride?
The streamlet answering hushes
The murmur of its gently-wavering tide,
That quivering chides its osier-bedded side,
“We heard his perjury.”
Have ye not heard him wooing me his bride?
The streamlet answering hushes
The murmur of its gently-wavering tide,
That quivering chides its osier-bedded side,
“We heard his perjury.”
46
Thou art a faithful stream,
Lovingly close past yonder islet wound
Thy tide with ripple-gleam
Doth bend two thin white arms to clasp it round,
Hast ever heard Silenus' woven song,
Whisper a guileless nymph to scath and wrong,
Making love—Perjury?
Lovingly close past yonder islet wound
Thy tide with ripple-gleam
Doth bend two thin white arms to clasp it round,
Hast ever heard Silenus' woven song,
Whisper a guileless nymph to scath and wrong,
Making love—Perjury?
Shine out clear stars of heaven
On this unholy earth from purer sky:
Where man may be forgiven
Must maidens suffer for their love and die?
Nor Heaven regard their unavailing cry—
Die! but men heed them not.
On this unholy earth from purer sky:
Where man may be forgiven
Must maidens suffer for their love and die?
Nor Heaven regard their unavailing cry—
Die! but men heed them not.
O circling wondrous time,
That sparest nothing through this earth created
O surely for each crime
Thou hast in store some retribution fated;
Thou hast some term for sorrow never sated:
Kill, or restore my love!
That sparest nothing through this earth created
O surely for each crime
Thou hast in store some retribution fated;
Thou hast some term for sorrow never sated:
Kill, or restore my love!
| Glimpses of Antiquity | |