236

Where shall the lover rest

Whom the fates sever

From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high

Sounds the far billow,

Where early violets die
Under the willow.

Eleu loro

Soft shall be his pillow.

There, through the summer day
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,

Scarce are boughs waving;
There thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,

Never again to wake

Never, O never!

Eleu loro

Never, O never!

Where shall the traitor rest,

He, the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,

Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying,

Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying;

Eleu loro

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the falsehearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap

Ere life be parted;
Shame and dishonour sit

By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it

Never, O never!

Eleu loro

Never, O never!

237

Sir Walter Scott

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither'd from the lake
And no birds sing.

"O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

"I see a lily on thy brow

With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too."

"I met a lady in the meads,

Full beautiful-a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

"I made a garland for her head,

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love,

And made sweet moan.

"I set her on my pacing steed

And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song.

"She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said 'I love thee true.'

"She took me to her elfin grot,

And there she wept and sigh'd full sore; And there I shut her wild, wild eyes

With kisses four.

"And there she lulléd me asleep,

And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd

On the cold hill's side.

"I saw pale kings and princes too,

Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried-'La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!'

"I saw their starved lips in the gloam

With horrid warning gapéd wide, And I awoke and found me here

On the cold hill's side.

"And this is why I sojourn here

Alone and palely loitering,

Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.'

John Keats

238*

THE ROVER

"A weary lot is thine, fair maid,
A weary lot is thine!

To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,
And press the rue for wine.

A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,

A doublet of the Lincoln green-
No more of me you knew,
My Love!

No more of me you knew.

"This morn in merry June, I trow,
The rose is budding fain;

But she shall bloom in winter snow
Ere we two meet again."

He turn'd his charger as he spake

Upon the river shore,

He gave the bridle-reins a shake,
Said "Adieu for evermore,
My Love!

And adieu for evermore."

Sir Walter Scott

239

THE FLIGHT OF LOVE

When the lamp is shatter'd,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scatter'd,
The rainbow's glory is shed;
When the lute is broken,

Sweet tones are remember'd not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

As music and splendour

Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render

No song when the spirit is mute-
No song but sad dirges,

Like the wind through a ruin'd cell,
Or the mournful surges

That ring the dead seaman's knell.

When hearts have once mingled,

Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled

To endure what it once possesst.

O Love! who bewailest

The frailty of all things here,

Why choose you the frailest

For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

Its passions will rock thee,

As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,