But what of that? In many a fight,—
Though he who shouldn't say it, said it,— He still had borne him like a knight,
And had his share of blows and credit;
And if she would but condescend
To meet him at the priest's to-morrow,
And be henceforth his guide, his friend,
In every toil, in every sorrow,
They'd sail instanter from the Downs;
His hands just now were quite at leisure;
And if she fancied foreign crowns,
He'd win them,-with the greatest pleasure.
"A year is gone," the damsel sigh'd,
But blushed not, as she so replied,—
"Since one I loved,-alas, how well
He knew not, knows not,-left our dell.
Time brings to his deserted cot
No tidings of his after lot;
But his weal or woe is still the theme
Of my daily thought, and my nightly dream.
Poor Alice is not proud or coy;
But her heart is with her minstrel boy."
Away from his arms the damsel bounded,
And left him more and more confounded.
He mused of the present, he mused of the past,
And he felt that a spell was o'er him cast;
He shed hot tears, he knew not why,
And talked to himself and made reply;
Till a calm o'er his troubled senses crept,
And, as the daylight waned, he slept.
Poor gentleman !-I need not say
Beneath an ancient oak he lay.
"He is welcome,"-o'er his bed
Thus the bounteous Fairy said:
"He has conned the lesson now;
He has read the book of pain:
There are furrows on his brow,
I must make it smooth again.
Lo, I knock the spurs away;
Lo, I loosen belt and brand;
Hark, I hear the courser neigh
For his stall in Fairy-land.
Bring the cap, and bring the vest;
Buckle on his sandal shoon;
Fetch his memory from the chest
In the treasury of the moon.
I have taught him to be wise,
For a little maiden's sake ;-
Lo, he opens his glad eyes,
Softly, slowly:-Minstrel, wake!"
The sun has risen, and Wilfred is come
To his early friends, and his cottage home.
His hazel eyes and his locks of gold
Are just as they were in the time of old:
But a blessing has been on the soul within,
For that is won from its secret sin,
More loving now, and worthier love
Of men below, and of saints above.
He reins a steed with a lordly air,
Which makes his country cousins stare;
And he speaks in a strange and courtly phrase,
Though his voice is the voice of other days:
But where he has learned to talk and ride,
He will tell to none but his bonny Bride.
(Written in 1830, and revised in 1837.)
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
WHERE foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a ruin, wan and grey,
O'erlooks the corn-field and the vine,
Majestic in its dark decay.
Among their dim clouds, long ago,
They mocked the battles that raged below,
And greeted the guests in arms that came,
With hissing arrow and scalding flame.
But there is not one of the homes of pride
That frown on the breast of the peaceful tide,
Whose leafy walls more proudly tower
Than these, the walls of Belmont Tower.
Where foams and flows the glorious Rhine,
Many a fierce and fiery lord
Did carve the meat, and pour the wine,
For all that revelled at his board.
Father and son, they were all alike,
Firm to endure, and fast to strike;
Little they loved but a frou or a feast,
Nothing they feared but a prayer or a priest.
But there was not one in all the land
More trusty of heart, more stout of hand;
More valiant in field, or more courteous in bower,
Than Otto, the Lord of Belmont Tower.
His eyes were bright, his eyes were blue,
As summer's sun, as summer's heaven;
His age was barely twenty-two,
His height was just five feet eleven;
His hounds were of the purest strain,
His hawks the best from every nation;
His courser's tail, his courser's mane,
Was all the country's admiration:
His frowns were lightnings, charged with fate,
His smiles were shafts from Cupid's quiver;
He had a very old estate,
And the best vineyards on the river.
So ancient dames, you need not doubt,
Would wink and nod their pride and pleasure,
Whene'er the youthful Count led out
Their eldest or their youngest treasure,
Take notes of what his Lordship said
On shapes and colours, songs and dances,
And make their maidens white or red,
According to his Lordship's fancies.
They whispered, too, from time to time,
What might escape the Count's inspection;
That Linda's soul was all sublime;
That Gertrude's taste was quite perfection :
Or blamed some people's forward tricks,
And very charitably hinted,
Their neighbour's niece was twenty-six,
Their cousin's clever daughter squinted.
Are you rich, single, and "your Grace?"
I pity your unhappy case.
Before you launch your first new carriage,
The women have arranged your marriage;
Where'er your weary wit may lead you,
They pet you, praise you, fret you, feed you;
Consult your taste in wreaths and laces,
And make you make their book at races:
Your little pony, Tam O'Shanter,
Is found to have the sweetest canter;
Your curricle is quite reviving,
And Jane's so bold when you are driving!
One recollects your father's habits,
And knows the warren, and the rabbits!
The place is really princely—only
They're sure you'll find it vastly lonely:
Another, in more tender phrases,
Records your sainted mother's praises;
Pronounces her the best of creatures,
And finds in you her tones and features.
You go to Cheltenham for the waters,
And meet the Countess and her daughters;
You take a cottage at Geneva--
Lo! Lady Anne and Lady Eva.
After a struggle of a session,
You just surrender at discretion,
And live to curse the frauds of mothers,
And envy all your younger brothers.
Count Otto bowed, Count Otto smiled,
When my Lady praised her darling child;
Count Otto smiled, Count Otto bowed,
When the child those praises disavowed;
But out on the cold one! he cared not a rush
For the motherly pride, or the maidenly blush.
As a knight should gaze, Count Otto gazed,
Where Bertha in all her beauty blazed;
As a knight should hear, Count Otto heard,
When Liba sang like a forest bird;
But he thought, I trow, about as long
Of Bertha's beauty and Liba's song,
As the sun may think of the clouds that play
O'er his radiant path on a summer day.
Many a maid had dreams of state,
As the Count rode up to her father's gate;
Many a maid shed tears of pain,
As the Count rode back to his tower again;
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