« 上一頁繼續 »
The light dwelt o'er the scene so lingeringly. He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, And smiles at the far clearness all around, Until his heart is well nigh overwound, And turns for calmness to the pleasant green Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean So elegantly o'er the waters' brim And show their blossoms trim. Scarce can his clear and nimble eyesight follow The freaks and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow, Delighting much, to see it half at rest, Dip so refreshingly its wings and breast 'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon, The widening circles into nothing gone.
And now the sharp keel of his little boat
The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn,
Green tufted islands casting their soft shades Across the lake ; sequester'd leafy glades, That through the dimness of their twilight show Large dock-leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow Of the wild cat's-eyes, or the silvery stems Of delicate birch-trees, or long grass which hems A little brook. The youth had long been viewing These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught With many joys for him : the warder's ken Had found white coursers prancing in the glen: Friends very dear to him be soon will see; So pushes off his boat most eagerly. And soon upon the lake he skims along, Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song; Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly : His spirit flies before him so completely. And now he turns a jutting point of land, Whence may be seen the castle gloomy and grand : Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches, Before the point of his light shallop reaches Those marble steps that through the water dip : Now over them he goes with hasty trip, And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors : Anon he leaps along the oaken floors Of halls and corridors.
Delicious sounds ! those little bright-eyed things That float about the air on azure wings, Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang Of clattering hoofs ; into the court he sprang, Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain, Were slanting out their necks with loosen'd rein ; While from beneath the threatening portcullis They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss, What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's band ! How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd! Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone, While whisperings of affection Made him delay to let their tender feet Come to the earth ; with an incline so sweet From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent : And whether there were tears of languishment,
Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses,
Amid the pages, and the torches glare,
The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent, And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated, The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted All the green leaves that round the window clamber, To show their purple stars, and bells of amber. Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel, Gladdening in the free and airy feel Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond Is looking round about him with a fond And placid eye, young Calidore is burning To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning Of all unworthiness ; and how the strong of arm Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm From lovely woman: while brimful of this, He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss, And had such manly ardour in his eye, That each at other look'd half-staringly : And then their features started into smiles, Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles. Softly the breezes from the forest came, Softly they blew aside the taper's flame; Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower; Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower; Mysterious, wild, the far-heard trumpet's tone; Lovely the moon in ether, all alone : Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals, As that of busy spirits when the portals Are closing in the West; or that soft humming We hear around when Hesperus is coming. Sweet be their sleep.
HOPES OF THE PAST.
By CHARLES SWAIN.
A golden path to other years :
Or life had lost what life endears:
The bounding heart, the spirit's play,
The thoughts that seemed on wings to flyWe ask in vain-ah, where are they?
The days, the dreams, the hopes gone by!
The brightness and the bloom have fled,
And life seems cold as winter snow;
That knew and loved us long ago !
As once they came when hope was high ; Yet dear, till life's last pulse is o'er,
Will be the days the hopes gone by!
WE HAVE BEEN FRIENDS TOGETHER.
By the Honourable Mrs. NORTON.
We have been friends together,
We have been friends together,