Volume I Part 39 (2/2)
THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.[80]
My hawk is tired of perch and hood, My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall; I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that 's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing: These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; A blithesome welcome blithely meet And lay my trophies at her feet, While fled the eve on wing of glee-- That life is lost to love and me!
[80] ”The Lady of the Lake,” canto sixth.
HE IS GONE ON THE MOUNTAIN.[81]
He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest.
The font re-appearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow; But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are h.o.a.ry, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rus.h.i.+ng Wafts the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flus.h.i.+ng When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the corrie, Sage counsel in c.u.mber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and for ever.
[81] ”The Lady of the Lake,” canto third.
A WEARY LOT IS THINE, FAIR MAID.[82]
”A weary lot is thine, fair maid, A weary lot is thine!
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, And press the rue for wine!
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, No more of me ye knew, my love!
No more of me ye knew.
”This morn is merry June, I trow, The rose is budding fain; But she shall bloom in winter snow, Ere we two meet again.”
He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river sh.o.r.e, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Said, ”Adieu for evermore, my love!
And adieu for evermore.”
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