If, in the warm and passionate hour A dream of delicate beauty melt Seen by the soul, and seen by the mind, A bright creation, a shadowy ray, For, oh! the light of my saddened theme And her thin white arm, and her flowing hair, So you might guess from her eyes' dim rays, And hence the story had ever run, That the fairest of dames was a headless one. The pilgrim in his foreign weeds Would falter in his prayer; And the monk would pause in his half-told beads To breathe a blessing there; The knight would loose his vizor-clasp, And drop the rein from his nerveless grasp, And pass his hand across his brow With a sudden sigh, and a whispered vow, And marvel Flattery's tale was told, From a lip so young to an ear so cold. She had seen her sixteenth winter out, When she met with the beast I was singing about: The dragon, I told you, had dined that day; So he gazed upon her as he lay, Earnestly looking, and looking long, With his appetite weak and his wonder strong. Silent he lay in his motionless coil; And the song of the lady was sweet the while : "Nonny Nonny! I hear it float, Innocent bird, thy tremulous note: It comes from thy home in the eglantine, "Nonny Nonny! LILLIAN sings But surely Sir Launcelot never heard The dragon he lay in mute amaze, Till something of kindness crept into his gaze; He veiled his claws with their speckled skin, And the song of the lady was sweet the while : "Nonny Nonny! who shall tell Where the summer breezes dwell?, Lightly and brightly they breathe and blow, "Nonny Nonny! I hear your tone, A moment! and the dragon came And the scales on his huge limbs gleaming o'er, She had won his heart, while she charmed his ear, Guiding the steed with a touch and a tone, The dame and the dragon they soared together; He bore her away on the breath of the galeThe two little dwarfs held fast by the tail. Fanny! a pretty group for drawing; My dragon like a war-horse pawing, My dwarfs in a fright, and my girl in an attitude, Patting the beast in her soulless gratitude. There; you may try it if you will, While I drink my coffee and nib my quill. CANTO II. The sun shone out on hill and grove; It was a glorious day, The lords and ladies were making love, And the clowns were making hay; But the town of Brentford marked with wonder A lightning in the sky, and thunder, "Now the slayer doth not slay, Hear ye this, and seek, and save! He that would wed the loveliest maid, Must don the stoutest mail, For the rider shall never be sound in the head, Hey diddle diddle! the cat and the fiddle! How kind art thou, and oh! how mighty, By thy sole aid in old romance, |