The Lay of Marie - And Vignettes in Verse | Page 7

head!?Say, where is former courage fled,?'That all must now thy face infold??At distance they were backward roll'd.?Whence, then, this most unfounded fear??Are we so strange, so hateful here?'
"I strove in vain to lift my eyes,?And made some indistinct replies;?When one, more courteous and more kind,?Stepp'd forth to save my fainting mind.?'My liege, have pity! for, in truth,?It is too hard upon her youth.?Though so alert and fleet in song,?The strain was high, the race was long;?And she before has never seen?A monarch, save the fairy queen:?But does the lure of thought obey?As falcons their appointed way;?Train'd to one end, and wild as those?If aught they know not interpose.?Vain then is strength, and skill is vain,?Either to lead them or restrain.?The eye-lid closes, and the heart,?Low-sinking, plays a traitor's part;?While wings, of late so firmly spread,?Hang flagg'd and powerless as the dead!?With courts familiar from our birth,?Is it fit subject for our mirth,?That thus awakening from her theme,?Where she through air and sea pursues,?And all things governs, all subdues,?(Like fetter'd captive in a dream,)?Blindly to tread on unknown land,?Without a guide or helping hand,?No previous usage to befriend,?(As well we might an infant lend?Our eyes' experience, ear, or touch!)?Can we in reason wonder much,?Her steps are tottering and unsure?Where we have learnt to walk secure??Is it not true, what I have told?'?Her paus'd, my features to behold--?Earl William paus'd: across his mien?A strong and sudden change was seen,?The courtier bend, protecting tone.?And smile of sympathy, were gone.?Abrupt his native accents broke,?And his lips trembled as he spoke.
"'How thus can Memory, in its flight,?On wings of gossamer alight,?Nor showing aim, nor leaving trace,?From a poor damsel's living face?To features of a brave, dead knight!?In eyes so young, and so benign,?What is it speaks of Palestine??Of toils in early life I prov'd,?And of a comrade dearly lov'd!?'Tis true, he, like this maid, was young,?And gifted with a tuneful tongue!?His looks [Errata: locks], like her's, were bright and fair, But light and laughing was his eye;?The prophecy of future care?In those thin, helmet lids we spy,?Veiling mild orbs, of changeful hue,?Where auburn half subsides in blue!?Lord Fauconberg, canst thou divine?What is the curve, or what the line,?That makes this girl, like lightning, send?Looks of our long lamented friend??If Richard liv'd, that sorcery spell?Quickly his lion-heart would quell:?He never could her glance descry,?And any wish'd-for boon deny!?She's weeping too!--most strangely wrought?By workings of another's thought!?She knows no English; yet I speak?That language, and her paling cheek?With watery floods is overcast.--?Fair maid, we talk of times long past;?A friend we often mourn in vain--?A knight in distant battle slain,?Whose bones had moulder'd in the earth?Full many a year before thy birth.?He fed our ears with songs of old,?And one was of a heart of gold,--?A native ditty I would fain,?But never yet could hear again.?It spoke of friendship like his own,?Once only in existence known.?My prime of life the blessing crost,?And with it life's first charm I lost!'
"'Chieftain, allow me, on my knee?To sing that English song to thee!?For then I never dare to stand,?Nor take the harp within my hand;?Sacred it also is to me!?And it should please thy fancy well,?Since dear the lips from whence it fell;?'And dear the language which conveys?The only theme of real praise!?O! if in very truth thou art?A mourner for that loyal heart,?A lowly minstrel maid forgive,?Who strives to make remembrance live!'
SONG.
"'Betimes my heritage was sold?To buy this heart of solid gold.?Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine,?But what are such compar'd to mine??O! they are formal, poor, and cold,?And out of fashion when they're old;--?But this is of unchanging ore,?And every day is valued more.?Not all the eye could e'er behold?Should purchase back this heart of gold.
"'How oft its temper has been tried!?Its noble nature purified!?And still it from the furnace came?Uninjur'd by the subtil flame.?Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure,?Yielding, yet fitted to endure,--?No rust, no tarnish can arise,?To hide its lustre from our eyes;?And this world's choicest gift I hold,?While I can keep my heart of gold.
"'Whatever treasure may be lost,?Whatever project may be crost,?Whatever other boon denied,?The amulet I long have tried?Has still a sweet, attractive power?To draw the confidential hour,--?That hour for weakness and for grief,?For true condolement, full belief!?O! I can never feel bereft,?While one possession shall be left;?That which I now in triumph hold,?This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold!
"'Come, all who wish to be enroll'd!?Our order is, the heart of gold.?The vain, the artful, and the nice,?Can never pay the weighty price;?For they must selfishness abjure,?Have tongue, and hand, and conscience pure;?Suffering for friendship, never grieve,?But, with a god-like strength, believe?In the oft absent power of truth,?As they have seen it in their youth.?Ye who have grown in such a mould?Are worthy of the heart of gold!'
"Ceasing, and in the act to