The Lay of Marie
CANTO THIRD.
"Careless alike who went or came,
I seldom ask'd the stranger's name,
When such a being came in view
As eagerly the question drew.
'The Lady Osvalde,' some one cried,
'Sir Eustace' late appointed bride,
His richest ward the king's behest
Gives to the bravest and the best.'
"Enchantments, wrought by pride and fear,
Made me, though mute, unmov'd appear.
My eye was quiet, and the while
My lip maintain'd a steady smile.
It cost me much, alas! to feign;
But while I struggled with the pain,
With beauty stole upon my sight
An inward feeling of delight.
"Long did the silken lashes lie
Upon a dark and brilliant eye;
Bright the wild rose's finest hue
O'er a pure cheek of ivory flew.
Her smile, all plaintive and resign'd,
Bespake a gentle, suffering mind;
And e'en her voice, so clear and faint,
Had something in it of complaint.
Her delicate and slender form,
Like a vale-lily from the storm,
Seem'd pensively to shrink away,
More timid in a crowd so gay.
Large jewels glitter'd in her hair;
And, on her neck, as marble fair,
Lay precious pearls, in countless strings;
Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings,
Announc'd high rank and amplest wealth,
But neither freedom, power, nor health.
"Near her Sir Eustace took his stand,
With manner sad, yet soft and bland;
Spoke oft, but her replies were tame;
And soon less frequent both became.
Their converse seem'd by labour wrought,
Without one sweet, free-springing thought;
Without those flashes of delight
Which make it tender, deep, or bright!
It was not thus upon the sea
He us'd to look and talk with me!
Not thus, when, lost to all around,
His haughty kinsmen saw and frown'd!
Then all unfelt the world's controul,—
Its rein lay lightly o'er his soul;
Far were its prides and cautions hurl'd,
And Thought's wide banner flew unfurl'd.
"Yet we should do fair Osvalde wrong
To class her with the circling throng:
Her mind was like a gentle sprite,
Whose wings, though aptly form'd for flight,
From cowardice are seldom spread;
Who folds the arms, and droops the head;
Stealing, in pilgrim guise along,
With needless staff, and vestment grey,
It scarcely trills a vesper song
Monotonous at close of day.
Cross but its path, demanding aught,
E'en what its pensive mistress sought,
Though forward welcoming she hied,
And its quick footstep glanc'd aside.
"Restraint, alarms, and solitude,
Her early courage had subdu'd;
Fetter'd her movements, looks, and tongue,
While on her heart more weighty hung
Each griev'd resentment, doubt, and pain,
Each dread of anger or disdain.
A deeper sorrow also lent
The sharpen'd pang of discontent;
For unconceal'd attachment prov'd
Destructive to the man she lov'd.
"Owning, like her, an orphan's doom,
He had not that prescriptive home
Which wealth and royal sanction buys;
No powerful friends, nor tender ties;—
No claims, save former promise given,
Whose only witness was in heaven;
And promise takes a slender hold,
Where all is selfish, dull, and cold.
"Slowly that bloomless favour grew,
Before his stern protectors knew
The secret which arous'd disdain.
Declaring that he did but feign,
They, in unpitying vengeance, hurl'd
A sister's offspring on the world.
Thus outrag'd, pride's corroding smart,
The fever of a throbbing heart,
Impell'd him first to wander round,
And soon to leap that barrier ground,
And seek the arch'd, embowering way,
In which her steps were wont to stray.