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We did not meet in courtly hall,
Where Birth and Beauty throng,
And wit awakes the song ;
In the home of Sin and Shame,
And hides his titled name;
What once she might have been,
My pretty Josephine.
We did not part beneath the sky,
As warmer lovers part, Where Night conceals the glistening eye,
But not the throbbing heart; We parted on the spot of ground
Where we first had laughed at love, And ever the jests were loud around,
And the lamps were bright above :
“The heaven is very dark, Love,
The blast is very keen,
Good night, my Josephine !"
She did not speak of ring or vow,
But filled the cup of wine,
To make a wreath for mine ;
My light skiff on the wave,
As of the hand that gave: “Go gaily o'er the sea, Love,
And find your own heart's queen; And look not back to me, Love,
Your humble Josephine !"
That garland breathes and blooms no more,
Past are those idle hours;
The fondness or the flowers ;
Revives its wonted thrill, Remembered—not with Passion's sigh,
But oh ! remembered still : And even from your side, Love,
And even from this scene, One look is o'er the tide, Love,
One thought with Josephine !
Alas ! your lips are rosier,
Your eyes of softer blue, And I have never felt for her
As I have felt for you; Our love was like the snow-flakes, .
Which melt before you pass
Before you lip the glass.
Which she has never seen;
My poor Josephine !
To horse! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is
high! To horse! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the big drum makes
reply! Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers, And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our
ears, To horse! to horse ! Sir Nicholas! White Guy is at
the door, And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of Marston
Up rose the Lady Alice, from her brief and broken
prayer, And she brought a silken banner down the narrow tur
ret-stair; Oh! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had
shed, As she traced the bright word “ Glory” in the gay and
And mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely
features ran, As she said, “ It is your lady's gift, unfurl it in the van!"
"It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest
ride Midst the steel-clad files of Skippon, the black dragoons
of Pride; The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualm, And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm, When they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly on
their wing, And hear her loyal soldier's shout, “For God and for
'Tis soon. The ranks are broken, along the royal line They fly, the braggarts of the court ! the bullies of the
Rhine! Stout Langdale's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's
helm is down, And Rupert sheathes his rapier, with a curse and with a
frown, And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in their
flight, “ The German boar had better far have supped in York
The knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain,