When last I the cruel scorn,

sang

That crazed this bold and lovely knight, And how he roamed the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night;

I promised thee a sister tale,
Of man's perfidious cruelty;

Come then, and hear what cruel wrong
Befell the Dark Ladie.

THE BALLAD OF THE DARK LADIE.

A FRAGMENT.

BENEATH yon

birch with silver bark,

And boughs so pendulous and fair,

The brook falls scattered down the rock: And all is mossy there!

And there upon the moss she sits,

The Dark Ladie in silent pain;

The heavy tear is in her eye,

And drops and swells again.

Three times she sends her little page
Up the castled mountain's breast,
If he might find the Knight that wears
The Griffin for his crest.

The sun was sloping down the sky,
And she had lingered there all day,
Counting moments, dreaming fears-
O wherefore can he stay?

She hears a rustling o'er the brook,
She sees far off a swinging bough!
""Tis He! 'Tis my betrothed Knight!
Lord Falkland, is it Thou!”

She springs, she clasps him round the neck,
She sobs a thousand hopes and fears,

Her kisses glowing on his cheeks
She quenches with her tears.

"My friends with rude ungentle words
They scoff and bid me fly to thee!
O give me shelter in thy breast!
O shield and shelter me!

"My Henry, I have given thee much,

The Knight made answer to the Maid,
While to his heart he held her hand,
"Nine castles hath my noble sire,
None statelier in the land.

"The fairest one shall be my love's, The fairest castle of the nine!

Wait only till the stars peep out,

The fairest shall be thine

"Wait only till the hand of eve

Hath wholly closed yon western bars,
And through the dark we two will steal
Beneath the twinkling stars!

"The dark? the dark? No! not the dark? The twinkling stars? How, Henry? How? O God! 'twas in the eye of noon

He pledged his sacred vow!

"And in the eye of noon, my love,

Shall lead me from my mother's door,
Sweet boys and girls all clothed in white
Strewing flow'rs before:

"But first the nodding minstrels go
With music meet for lordly bow'rs,
The children next in snow-white vests,
Strewing buds and flow'rs!

"And then my love and I shall pace,
My jet black hair in pearly braids,
Between our comely bachelors

And blushing bridal maids."

THE DAY-DREAM.

FROM AN EMIGRANT TO HIS ABSENT WIFE.

If thou wert here, these tears were tears of light!
But from as sweet a vision did I start
As ever made these eyes grow idly bright!

And though I weep, yet still around my heart
A sweet and playful tenderness doth linger,
Touching my heart as with an infant's finger.

My mouth half open, like a witless man,

I saw our couch, I saw our quiet room,
Its shadows heaving by the fire-light gloom;
And o'er my lips a subtle feeling ran,

All o'er my lips a soft and breeze-like feeling-
I know not what-but had the same been stealing

Upon a sleeping mother's lips, I guess

It would have made the loving mother dream That she was softly bending down to kiss

Her babe, that something more than babe did seem, A floating presence of its darling father,

And yet its own dear baby self far rather!

Across my chest there lay a weight, so warm!
As if some bird had taken shelter there;
And lo! I seemed to see a woman's form-

Thine, Sara, thine? O joy, if thine it were!
I gazed with stifled breath, and feared to stir it,
No deeper trance e'er wrapt a yearning spirit!

222

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.

And now when I seemed sure thy face to see,
Thy own dear self in our own quiet home;
There came an elfish laugh, and wakened me:
'Twas Frederic, who behind my chair had clomb,
And with his bright eyes at my face was peeping.
I blessed him, tried to laugh, and fell a weeping !*

1798-9.

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

IF I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!

But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:

I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.

But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,

Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

* See Note.

1798-9.