Volume Ii Part 141 (1/2)

His n.o.bles are beaten, one by one; (Hurry!) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying!

The king looked back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They pa.s.sed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; (Silence!) No answer came; but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing.

The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; For dead, in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary.

The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck: ”O steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!”

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1870]

THE WATCHER

A rose for a young head, A ring for a bride, Joy for the homestead Clean and wide-- Who's that waiting In the rain outside?

A heart for an old friend, A hand for the new: Love can to earth lend Heaven's hue-- Who's that standing In the silver dew?

A smile for the parting, A tear as they go, G.o.d's sweethearting Ends just so-- Who's that watching Where the black winds blow?

He who is waiting In the rain outside, He who is standing Where the dew drops wide, He who is watching In the wind must ride (Though the pale hands cling) With the rose And the ring And the bride, Must ride With the red of the rose, And the gold of the ring, And the lips and the hair of the bride.

James Stephens [1882-

THE THREE SISTERS

Gone are those three, those sisters rare With wonder-lips and eyes as.h.i.+ne.

One was wise and one was fair, And one was mine.

Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair Of only two your ivy vine.

For one was wise and one was fair, But one was mine.

Arthur Davison Ficke [1883-

BALLAD

He said: ”The shadows darken down, The night is near at hand.

Now who's the friend will follow me Into the sunless land?

”For I have va.s.sals leal and true, And I have comrades kind, And wheresoe'er my soul shall speed, They will not stay behind.”

He sought the brother young and blithe Who bore his spear and s.h.i.+eld: ”In the long chase you've followed me, And in the battle-field.

”Few vows you make; but true's your heart, And you with me will win.”

He said: ”G.o.d speed you, brother mine, But I am next of kin.”

He sought the friar, the gray old priest Who loved his father's board.