« AnteriorContinuar »
Then the sombre village crier,
Wandered down the street proclaiming
And the curious country people, Rich and poor, and young and old,
Came in haste to see this wondrous Winged steed, with mane of gold.
Thus the day passed, and the evening Fell with vapours cold and dim ;
But it brought no foo! nor shelter, Brought no straw nor stall, for him.
Patiently, and still expectant,
Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape,
Till at length the bell at midnight
And, from out a neighbouring farm-yard
Then, with nostrils wide distended,
And unfolding far his pinions,
On the morrow, when the village
Lo! the strange steed had departed,
But they found upon the greensward
Pure and bright, a fountain flowing
From that hour, the fount unfailing
Strengthening all who drink its waters,
TEGNER'S DEATH. .
I HEARD a voice that cried,
- And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of Sunward sailing cranes.
I saw the pallid corpse
And the voice for ever cricd,
Balder the Beautiful
All things in earth and air
Hoeder, the blind old God,
O PRECIOUs, evenings! all too swiftly speed :
God sent his singers upon earth,
The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
The second, with a bearded face,
A o old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold,
When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom,
Meanwhile, whence comes it that among These youthful maidens fresh and fair, So joyous, with such laughing air. Baptiste stands sighing, with silent tongue? And yet the bride is fair and young : Is it Saint Joseph would say to us all, That love, o'erhasty precedeth a fall 2 Oh, no l for a maiden frail, I trow, Never bore so lofty a brow! What lovers! they give not a single caress To see them so careless and cold to-day, These are grand people, one would say. What ails paptute: what grief doth him oppress It is, that half-way up the hill, In yon cottage, by those walls Stand the cart-house and the stalls, I)welleth the blind orphan still, Daughter of a veteran old: And you must know, one year ago, That Margaret, thed.o. ; and tender, Was the Village pride and splendour, And Baptiste her lover bold.
Love, the deceiver, then ensnared ;
All at the father's stern command was changed ; Their peace was gone, but not their love estranged.
Wearied at home, ere long the lover fled;
Then suddenly a maiden cried, “Anna, Theresa, Mary, Kate : Here comes the cripple Jane!” And by a fountain's side A woman, bent and grey with years, Under the mulberry-trée appears, And all towards her run, as fleet As had they wings upon their feet, It is that Jane, the cripple Jane, Is a soothsayer, wary and kind. She telleth fortunes, and none complain, She promises one a village swain, Another a happy wedding-day, And the bride a lovely boy straightway. All comes to pass as she fivers; She never deceives, she never errs.
But for this once the village seer Wears a countenance severe, And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Her two eyes flash like cannons bright Aimed at the bridegroom in waistcoat blue, Who like a statue stands in view: Changing colour, as well he might, When the beldame wrinkled and gray Takes the §§§ bride by the hand, And, with the tip of her reedy wand Making the sign of the cross doth say:— “Thoughtless Angela, beware! Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, Thou diggest for thyself a tomb!” And she was silent: and the maidens fair Saw from each eye escape a swollen tear; But on a little streamlet silver-clear, What are two drops of turbid rain? Saddened a moment, the bridal train Resumed the dance and song again: The bridegroom only was pale with fear:— And down green alleys Of verdurous valleys, With merry sallies, They sang the refrain:–
“the is: should blossom, the roads should
II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet, Thus lamented Margaret, In her cottage lone and dreary:—
“He has arrived : arrived at last : Yet Jane has named him not these three days past: Arrived : yet keeps aloof so far: And knows that of my night he is the star! Knows that long months I wait alone, benighted, And count the moments since he went away! Come! keep the promise of that happier day, That I o keep the faith to thee 1 plighted! What joy have I without thee? what delight? Grief wastes my life, and makes it misery; Day for the others ever, but for me
For ever night: for ever might! When he is gone 'tis dark! my soul is sad : I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad. When he is near, no thoughts of day intrude: Day has blue heavens, but Baptiste has blue
Within them shines for me a heaven of love,
But when alone, remember all!
What then–when one is blind?
“Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken : Ah! woe is me! then bear me to my grave : O God! what thoughts within Inc. waken : Away! he will return I do but rave! e will return : I need not fear ! He swore it by our Saviour dear: He could not come at his own will; Is weary, or perhaps is ill! Perhaps his heart, in this disguise, Prepares for me some sweet surprise ! But some one comes! Though blind my heart can see : And that deceives me not : 'tis he 'tis Inc.” And the door ajar is set, And poor, confiding Margaret Rises, with outstretch'd arms, but sightless cyes; 'Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries:
“Hark! the joyous airs are ringing." Sister, dost thou hear them singing? How merrily they laugh and jest! Would we were bidden with the rest: I would don my hose and homespun gray, And my doublèt of linen striped and gay : Perhaps they will come; for o do not wed Till to-morrow at seven o'clock. it is said:” “I know it!” answered Margaret; Whom the vision, with aspect black as jet, Mastered again; and its hand of ice Held her heart crushed, as in a vice' “Paul, be not sad: 'Tis a holiday: To-morrow put on thy doublet gay! But leave me now for a while alone.” Away, with a | and a jump, went Paul, And, as he whistled along the hall, Entered Jane, the crippled crone.