| |
| THE WARRIOR 1 knelt before the maid— | |
| A blush came o’er her cheek; | |
| Telling, as o’er her brow it play’d, | |
| What not her tongue would speak. | |
| |
| “Ah! yes,” he softly said, “thou ’lt be | 5 |
| My own, my lily bride;” | |
| And still, in maiden purity, | |
| That maiden blush replied. | |
| |
| Life, love, and hope were in their spring, | |
| Beneath a cloudless sky; | 10 |
| The wild bird spread its silken wing, | |
| But breathed less melody. | |
| |
| Young nectar from the myrtle bower | |
| The honey-bee might sip; | |
| The warrior found a sweeter flower | 15 |
| In the dew of the maidens’s lip. | |
| |
| Still does the wild bird cleave the sky, | |
| The honey-bee is glad: | |
| Why dim with tears that maiden’s eye, | |
| And why that warrior sad? | 20 |
| |
| “Maiden! dost fear to meet the storm | |
| That shades a soldier’s way? | |
| The gems that deck the lordling’s form— | |
| Dost sigh for such as they? | |
| |
| “I woo thee not with glittering braid | 25 |
| And jewels for thy hair— | |
| The golden gift that wins the maid | |
| An idle vow may bear.” | |
| |
| Still does the wild bird cleave the sky, | |
| The honey-bee is glad; | 30 |
| Why dim with tears that maiden eye, | |
| And why that warrior sad? | |
| |
| “To horse! to horse! my melody | |
| Shall be the battle cry, | |
| And the war trump of victory | 35 |
| As sweet as woman’s sigh! | |
| |
| “For fetter’d birds go free again, | |
| And love can dream of scorn; | |
| When woman idly weaves the chain, | |
| As idly be it worn.” | 40 |
| |
| Still does the wild bird cleave the sky, | |
| The honey bee is gay, | |
| But tears bedimm’d that maiden’s eye | |
| As the warrior pass’d away. | |
| |
| “They say there ’s bliss in the princely train, | 45 |
| And in a robe of pride; | |
| Then wake for me the bridal strain”— | |
| The maiden said and sigh’d. | |
| |
| Loud laughter fills the banquet hall, | |
| There ’s music in the grove, | 50 |
| And steps as light as music’s fall | |
| To catch the voice of love. | |
| |
| She led the dance in merry glee, | |
| Her song was on the wind, | |
| And the red rose lay gracefully | 55 |
| Within her hair reclined. | |
| |
| But hark! the harper’s minstrelsy— | |
| Of other days a part! | |
| She glanced upon the myrtle tree | |
| And icy felt her heart; | 60 |
| |
| And a shade was on the festal hour, | |
| The jewel lights grew dim; | |
| She only saw that myrtle bower, | |
| She only thought of him. | |
| |
| “Oh! take me where the breezes swell, | 65 |
| Far from the haunts of pride, | |
| For they say there ’s joy where wild flowers dwell,”— | |
| The maiden said and sigh’d. | |
| |
| The forest blossoms bound her brow, | |
| But the heart was cold below; | 70 |
| And if she wakes the harp-strings now, | |
| What can they breathe but wo? | |
| |
| “That dream—that dream—it comes again, | |
| Link’d with its broken vow; | |
| As beautiful, as frail, as then, | 75 |
| They stand before me now! | |
| |
| “Gather the young, the fair, the free, | |
| Where a thousand torches glare, | |
| With lyre and wreath and revelry— | |
| Still is that vision there! | 80 |
| |
| “It comes when summer skies are bright, | |
| On the laugh of the morning breeze— | |
| It comes when evening’s misty light | |
| Has swept the sleeping seas”— | |
| |
| An early rest in the sullen pall, | 85 |
| One dream with the death pang wove— | |
| Oh! never of gems or of festal hall— | |
| But that first young dream of love! | |
