'With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come,
I read you for a bold Dragoon
That lists the tuck of drum.' 'I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear. And O! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May ! 'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die ;
The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough,— What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.'
'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen.'
There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep :
So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
THE INDIAN SERENADE
I arise from dreams of Thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me-who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream- The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine
O beloved as thou art !
Oh lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast; Oh! press it close to thine again Where it will break at last.
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place
And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent,— A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death: The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel-light.
She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be; Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me.
O then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light.
But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply,
And yet I cease not to behold
The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are fairer far
Than smiles of other maidens are.
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden; Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine.
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove;
A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love.
A violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye! -Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me !
I travell❜d among unknown men In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee.
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