"But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face:
He will say, ‘O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace!'
Then, ay, then he shall kneel low,
With the red-roan steed anear him
Which shall seem to understand,
Till I answer, 'Rise and go!
For the world must love and fear him
Whom I gift with heart and hand.'
"Then he will arise so pale,
I shall feel my own lips tremble
With a yes I must not say,
Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,'
I will utter, and dissemble-
'Light to-morrow with to-day!'
"Then he'll ride among the hills
To the wide world past the river,
There to put away all wrong;
To make straight distorted wills,
And to empty the broad quiver
Which the wicked bear along.
"Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain And kneel down beside my feet'Lo, my master sends this gage,
Lady, for thy pity's counting!
What wilt thou exchange for it?'
"And the first time, I will send
A white rosebud for a guerdon,
And the second time, a glove;
But the third time-I may bend
From my pride, and answer-'Pardon,
If he comes to take my love.'
"Then the young foot-page will run, Then my lover will ride faster,
Till he kneeleth at my knee :
'I am a duke's eldest son,
Thousand serfs do call me master,
But, O Love, I love but thee!"
"He will kiss me on the mouth Then, and lead me as a lover
Through the crowds that praise his deeds:
And, when soul-tied by one troth,
Unto him I will discover
That swan's nest among the reeds."
Little Ellie, with her smile
Not yet ended, rose up gaily,
Tied the bonnet, donned the shoe,
And went homeward round a mile,
Just to see, as she did daily,
What more eggs were with the two.
Pushing through the elm-tree copse,
Winding up the stream, light-hearted,
Where the osier pathway leads,
Past the boughs she stoops-and stops.
Lo, the wild swan had deserted,
And a rat had gnawed the reeds!
Ellie went home sad and slow.
If she found the lover ever,
With his red-roan steed of steeds,
Sooth I know not; but I know
She could never shew him-never,
That swan's nest among the reeds!
The Forsaken Merman.
COME, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below.
Now my brothers call from the bay;
Now the great winds shoreward blow;
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,
Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Children dear, let us away.
This way, this way!
In a voice that she will know:
"Margaret! Margaret!"
Children's voices should be dear
(Call once more) to a mother's ear;
Children's voices wild with pain.
Surely she will come again!
Call her once, and come away;
This way, this way!
"Mother dear, we cannot stay.
The wild white horses foam and fret,"
Margaret! Margaret!
Come, dear children, come away down.
One last look at the white-walled town,
And the little grey church on the windy shore,
Then come down.
She will not come though you call all day.
Come away, come away.
Children dear, was it yesterday
We heard the sweet bells over the bay?
In the caverns where we lay,
Through the surf and through the swell,
The far-off sound of a silver bell?
Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep,
Where the winds are all asleep;
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream;
Where the sea-beasts ranged all round
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground,
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail, and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?
Children, dear, was it yesterday
(Call yet once) that she went away?
Once she sat with you and me,
On a red-gold throne in the heart of the sea,
And the youngest sat on her knee.
She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well,
When down swung the sound of the far-off bell;
She sighed, she looked up through the clear green sea,
She said, "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray
In the little grey church on the shore to-day.
'Twill be Easter-time in the world-ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee."
I said, "Go up, dear heart, through the waves;
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves."
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?
Children dear, were we long alone?
"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say."
Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach in the sandy down
Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town, Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, To the little grey church on the windy hill.
From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.
We climbed on the graves, on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear;
Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here.
Dear heart,” I said, "we are here alone.
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
But, ah, she gave me never a look,
For her eyes were sealed to the holy book.
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door;
Come away, children, call no more,
Come away, come down, call no more.
Down, down, down,
Down to the depths of the sea,
She sits at her wheel in the humming town,
Singing most joyfully.
Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy,
From the humming street, and the child with its toy,
From the priest and the bell, and the holy well.
|