His nobles are beaten, one by one; Hurry! They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; His little fair page now follows alone, For strength and for courage trying! The king looked back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smiled; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropped; and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying!
The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn; Silence! No answer came; but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold gray morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide; None welcomed the king from that weary ride; For dead, in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, Who had yearned for his voice while dying!
The panting steed, with a drooping crest, Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast; And, that dumb companion eying, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck; "O steed, that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain To the halls where my love lay dying!"
Hon. Caroline Norton.
RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY.
Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged— Toll slowly. And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoary wood, Like a full heart having prayed.
And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west,— Toll slowly. And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, In the building of their nest.
Down the sun dropt large and red, on the towers of Linteged,— Toll slowly. Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light, While the castle stood in shade.
There, the castle stood up black, with the red sun at its back,— Toll slowly. Like a sullen smouldering pyre, with a top that flickers fire, When the wind is on its track.