III. He said "My friends have wended forth, Friend, wed my fair bride for my sake,— IV. "And when beside your wassail board Ye bless your social lot, I charge you, that the giver be Or alone of all his words recall The last,—Lament me not." V. She looked upon him silently, Till the rose did break from either cheek VI. She looked upon him mournfully, VII. She turned slow, as she would go, Some little touch of pain "I thought," she said, but shook her head, She tried that speech in vain. VIII. "I thought-but I am half a child, The teachings of the heaven and earth They have drawn my tears, in early years, IX. "But now that in thy face I read Before their beauty I would fain X. "And couldest thou as calmly view Where little feet kept time with thine And thy mother's look from holy book XI. "O brother,-called so, ere her last XII. "I will not live Sir Roland's bride,That dower I will not hold! I tread below my feet that go, These parchments bought and sold. The tears I weep are mine to keep, And worthier than thy gold." XIII. The poet and Sir Roland stood XIV. "And thou, O distant, sinful heart, To wrap and blind thee with the snows XV. "Ay! what, from earth-create for man, Ay! what from stars-revealed to man, Ay, more! what blessing can be given, XVI. "A man on earth HE wandered once, All meek and undefiled: And those who loved Him, said 'He wept'- Yet there might have been a smile unseen, XVII. "And now He pleadeth up in Heaven For our humanities, Till the ruddy light on seraphs' wings In pale emotion dies. They can better bear His Godhead's glare, XVIII. "I will go pray our God to-day To teach thee to discern as plain His grief divine—the blood-drop's stain He left there, Man for man. XIX. "So, for the blood's sake, shed by Him, To see i' the face of Adam's race XX. "I heard,” the poet said, "thy voice The sound was like the noise of life Or of waves that fail to stir the pale XXI. "And in betwixt the sound and me, Across my heart and across my brow XXII. "The castle and its lands are thine The poor's-it shall be done; Go, man; to love! I go to live In Courland hall, alone. The bats along the ceilings cling,— And storms and years have worn and reft PART THE THIRD. SHOWING HOW THE VOW WAS KEPT. I. He dwelt alone, and, sun and moon, Of his repented humanness; Until they seemed to fade. Of his own soul afraid. II. The self-poised God may dwell alone But God's chief angel waiteth for A brother's voice, to sing. And a lonely creature of sinful nature-It is an awful thing. III. An awful thing that feared itself IV. The poet at his lattice sate, And downwardly looked he: Three Christians wended by to prayers, With mute ones in their ee. |