And as I rode by Dalton-Hall Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle-wall Was singing merrily:
'O Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.'
'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may,
Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed As blithe as Queen of May.' Yet sung she 'Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are green;
I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.
'I read you by your bugle-horn And by your palfrey good, I read you for a ranger sworn
To keep the king's greenwood.' 'A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 't is at peep of light;
His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.' Yet sung she 'Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay;
I would I were with Edmund there
To reign his Queen of May !
'With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon
That lists the tuck of drum.' 'I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum
My comrades take the spear. And O! though Brignall banks be fair And Greta woods be gay,
Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May.
'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I 'll die! The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I!
And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, What once we were we all forget, Nor think what we are now.'
Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there
Would grace a summer-queen.
HERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep :
So the spirit bows before thee
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR
ARISE from dreams of Thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet
Has led me who knows how?
To thy chamber-window, Sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dreari; The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine
O beloved as thou art!
O lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast;
it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.
HE walks in beauty, like the night
SUE walks in blauty, and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
HE was a phantom of delight when first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too!
Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
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