Sir Florice lay in a dungeon cell
With none to soothe or save,
And high above his chamber fell
The echo of the wave;
But still he struck my Second there,
And bade its tones renew
These hours when every hue was fair
And every hope was true:—
“If still your angel footsteps move
Where mine may never be,
My lady love, my lady love,
O dream one dream of me!”
Not long the Christian captive pined!
My Whole was round his neck;
A sadder necklace ne’er was twined
So white a skin to deck:
Queen Folly ne’er was yet content
With gems or golden store,
But he who wears this ornament
Will rarely sigh for more:—
“My spirit to the Heaven above,
My body to the sea,
My heart to thee, my lady love,—
O weep one tear for me!”
VI.
Row on, row on!—The First may light
My shallop o’er the wave to-night,
But she will hide in a little while
The lustre of her silent smile;
For fickle she is, and changeful still,
As a madman’s wish, or a woman’s will.
Row on, row on!—The Second is high
In my own bright lady’s balcony;
And she beside it, pale and mute,
Untold her beads, untouched her lute,
Is wondering why her lover’s skiff
So slowly glides to the lonely cliff.
Row on, row on!—When the Whole is fled,
The song will be hushed and the rapture dead,
And I must go in my grief again
To the toils of day and the haunts of men,—
To a future of fear and a present of care,
And Memory’s dream of the things that were.
VII.
I graced Don Pedro’s revelry
All drest in fur and feather,
When Loveliness and Chivalry
Were met to feast together;
He flung the slave who moved the lid
A purse of maravedis,—
And this that gallant Spaniard did
For me, and for the Ladies.
He vowed a vow, that noble knight,
Before he went to table,
To make his only sport the fight,
His only couch the stable,
Till he had dragged, as he was bid,
Five score of Turks to Cadiz,—
And this that gallant Spaniard did,
For me, and for the Ladies.
To ride through mountains, where my First
A banquet would be reckoned,—
Through deserts where to quench their thirst,
Men vainly turn my Second;—
To leave the gates of fair Madrid,
To dare the gate of Hades,—
And this that gallant Spaniard did,
For me and for the Ladies.