She said: and more she could not say: For what she knew she could not tell, O'er-mastered by the mighty spell.
Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, Sir Leoline? Thy only child Lies at thy feet, thy joy, thy pride, So fair, so innocent, so mild; The same, for whom thy lady died! O by the pangs of her dear mother Think thou no evil of thy child! For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she died; Prayed that the babe for whom she died, Might prove her dear lord's joy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, Sir Leoline!
And wouldst thou wrong thy only child, Her child and thine?
Within the Baron's heart and brain If thoughts, like these, had any share, They only swelled his rage and pain, And did but work confusion there. His heart was cleft with pain and rage, His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild, Dishonoured thus in his old age;
Dishonoured by his only child, And all his hospitality
To the wronged daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy Brought thus to a disgraceful end- He rolled his eye with stern regard Upon the gentle minstrel bard,
And said in tones abrupt, austere— "Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? I bade thee hence!" The bard obeyed; And turning from his own sweet maid The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the lady Geraldine!
THE CONCLUSION TO PART II.
LITTLE child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself,
A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father's eyes with light; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin
(O sorrow and shame should this be true!)
Such giddiness of heart and brain
Comes seldom save from rage and pain,
So talks as it's most used to do.
In many ways doth the full heart reveal The presence of the love it would conceal; But in far more th' estranged heart lets know The absence of the love, which yet it fain would show.
OR THE FORKED TONGUE. A BALLAD.
"One word with two meanings is the traitor's shield and shaft: and a slit tongue be his blazon!"
But the dawn lies red on the dew:
Lord Julian has stolen from the hunters away,
Is seeking, Lady, for you.
Put on your dress of green,
Your buskins and your quiver;
Lord Julian is a hasty man, Long waiting brooked he never. I dare not doubt him, that he means
To wed you on a day,
Your lord and master for to be, And you his lady gay.
O Lady! throw your book aside!
Thus spake Sir Hugh the vassal knight
To Alice, child of old Du Clos,
As spotless fair, as airy light
As that moon-shiny doe,
The gold star on its brow, her sire's ancestral crest! For ere the lark had left his nest,
She in the garden bower below Sate loosely wrapt in maiden white, Her face half drooping from the sight, A snow-drop on a tuft of snow! O close your eyes, and strive to see The studious maid, with book on knee,- Ah! earliest-opened flower; While yet with keen unblunted light The morning star shone opposite
The lattice of her bower- Alone of all the starry host As if in prideful scorn
Of flight and fear he stayed behind, To brave th' advancing morn.
O! Alice could read passing well, And she was conning then
Dan Ovid's mazy tale of loves,
And gods, and beasts, and men.
The vassal's speech, his taunting vein, It thrilled like venom through her brain; Yet never from the book
She raised her head, nor did she deign The knight a single look.
"Off, traitor friend! how dar'st thou fix
Thy wanton gaze on me? And why, against my earnest suit, Does Julian send by thee?
"Go, tell thy Lord, that slow is sure: Fair speed his shafts to-day!
I follow here a stronger lure, And chase a gentler prey.”
She said: and with a baleful smile The vassal knight reeled off- Like a huge billow from a bark Toiled in the deep sea-trough,
That shouldering sideways in mid plunge, Is traversed by a flash.
And staggering onward, leaves the ear With dull and distant crash.
And Alice sate with troubled mien
A moment; for the scoff was keen, And thro' her veins did shiver! Then rose and donned her dress of green, Her buskins and her quiver.
There stands the flow'ring may-thorn tree! From thro' the veiling mist you see
The black and shadowy stem Smit by the sun the mist in glee Dissolves to lightsome jewelryEach blossom hath its gem!
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