* * * * *
LADY LEONORE AND HER LOVER.
FYTTE I.
Leonore. Why art thou sad?
Lover. Sweet Leonore
Come hither and list! On their golden shore
Yon waters sing. The winds are nigh;
They have swept all cloud from the starry sky;
And a rare song-woof their fingers weave
On earth—in air. 'Tis a pleasant eve!
A magic is in wind, moon and star—
A magic that winneth hearts afar
To the days that are past. Come, best beloved,
Look forth from this lattice: own the spell
Which hath moved a spirit long unmoved—
While I tell thee a tale I love to tell.
Leon. A tale thou lovest!
Lover. Aye, by my word!
As her wail is dear to the shadow bird,
Whose haunt is low in yon Linden glen,
I love the tale of my grievous pain.
The bird of the shadow will wail her wail—
Come hither, sweet Lady, and list my tale;
No word of my lip shall wound thine ear.
Leon. I will list thy story—but O, not here!
This lattice!—Hast thou——