How could ye quench the clear and living glow, Thus all was changed;-save that her tresses fine And still her form retained the grace divine Yet these remains of lesser beauties, now, And the world's early grandeur, have been razed. On some great ancient empire's desolate seat, Whose vastness might have been a Titan's home ;— So still, so bare, so gloomy, so decayed, The dried-up course of a once-boundless tide Speaks of long-perished pomp, dethroned sway;- So steadfast, o'er the quicksands of decay,— A GOODLIE BALLADE Of Sir Adomar, and of his faire ladye, with the greate love they bare eche unto other, and how that hee came backe from Holie Lande, but tarried not, taking with him awaie his true dame to a faire realme. SIR ADOMAR stoode at his castle gate; For a holie vow that knight hath ta’en, And that white banner, soone, to staine, In Saracen gore, full redde. 66 Ladye, when backe I come, o'er the sea, "Be thou the firste to welcome mee, "Or here I dwelle no more." Then spake that young dame, tenderlie : "A living woman if I shall bee, "I'll be the firste to welcome thee "Backe from the Paynim shore." That knighte hath hied, with the blessed hoste, To reare the crosse on the Paynim coaste, And to bleede where Christe hath bledde. For long years three, in Heathenrie, He hath wielded sworde where the bravest bee, And the boldest of them all is hee, When weapons are reeking redde. 'Tis long, 'tis long, since tidinges came To gladde that well-beloved dame : Her young cheeke waxeth white; The mourner's weedes are her array; And manie an houre doth shee watche and pray For her owne faithfull knighte. From her castle-wall, at eventide, Shee looked o'er the wave, and there shee spied A trim barke faring neare: But blacke, blacke were the sailes, I trow, She looked again, in haste; and, lo! No barke was sailing there. Midnight is come; and, from manie a tombe, The restless sprites fleet forthe to roame, In the sweete moone-light raies. From manie a sea and manie a shore, They glide through the night, for evermore, And seeke the haunts they loved of And walke their earthlie waies. yore, And the living who thinke upon the dead Sir Adomar's bride hath forsaken sleepe, Who knockes so loude, and knockes so late, Stranger, who mayst thou be?" "I'm a lone wanderer of the gloome, "And many a weary league I've come, "From a far lande, over the colde sea-foame, "With tidinges, ladie, to thee. |