XXIV. On yes! her childhood hath been nursed And why doth she turn from the glittering throng, From the Courtier's jest, and the Minstrel's song? Why doth she look where the ripples play While the boat in the twilight nears the shore, Hath she not heard in her lonely bower Than the Bulbul's hymn to the midnight rose. XXV. My First, that was so fresh and fair, And round that virgin heart of thine Roses are springing on thy clay; And there my Whole, obscurely bright, Still shows his little lamp by night, And hides it still by day. Aptly it decks that cypress bower, XXVI. WHEN my First flings down o'er tower and town Its sad and solemn veil, When the tempests sweep o'er the angry deep, And the stars are ghastly pale, And the gaunt wolves howl to the answering owl In the pause of the fitful gale, My Second will come to his ancient home From his dark and narrow bed; His warrior heel is cased in steel, But ye cannot bear its tread; And the beaming brand is in his hand, Through battle and blast his bark had passed, O'er many a stormy tide; He had burst in twain the tyrant's chain From the field of fame unscathed he came, (1827.) XXVII. Up, up, Lord Raymond, to the fight! And see thy javelin's point be bright, For over the hill and over the vale No craven he! yet beaten back He smote the Monarch in his lair, At dawn and dusk my Whole goes forth He looks to the south, he looks to the north, But many a cheerless moon must wane, VOL. 2-26 XXVIII. MORNING is beaming o'er brake and bower, Hark! to the chimes from yonder tower, Call ye my First from her chamber now, With her snowy veil and her jewelled brow. Lo! where my Second, in gallant array, With an arching neck and a glancing eye. Spread is the banquet, and studied the song; Look to the hill, is he climbing its side? Look to the stream-is he crossing its tide? Out on him, false one! he comes not yetLady, forget him, yea, scorn and forget. |