« PředchozíPokračovat »
Hearing the holy organ rolling waves
Of sound on roof and floor
Within, and anthem sung, is charm'd and tied
Of music left the lips of her that died
To save her father's vow;
The daughter of the warrior Gileadite,
A maiden pure; as when she went along
From Mizpeh's tower'd gate with welcome light, With timbrel and with song.
My words leapt forth: "Heaven heads the count
With that wild oath." She render'd answer
"Not so, nor once alone; a thousand times
I would be born and die.
**Single I grew, like some green plant, whose root Creeps to the garden water-pipes beneath, Feeding the flower; but ere my flower to fruit Changed, I was ripe for death.
"My God, my land, my father-these did move Me from my bliss of life, that Nature gave, Lower'd softly with a threefold cord of love Down to a silent grave.
"And I went mourning, 'No fair Hebrew boy Shall smile away my maiden blame among The Hebrew mothers '-emptied of all joy,
Leaving the dance and song,
"Leaving the olive-gardens far below,
Leaving the promise of my bridal bower,
The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow
"The light white cloud swam over us. Anon We heard the lion roaring from his den; We saw the large white stars rise one by one, Or, from the darken'd glen,
"Saw God divide the night with flying flame, And thunder on the everlasting hills.
I heard Him, for He spake, and grief became
A solemn scorn of ills.
"When the next moon was roll'd into the sky,
Strength came to me that equall'd my desire.
How beautiful a thing it was to die
For God and for my sire!
"It comforts me in this one thought to dwell,
That I subdued me to my father's will;
Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell,
Sweetens the spirit still.
"Moreover it is written that my race
Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face
Glow'd, as I look'd at her.
She lock'd her lips: she left me where I stood:
Glory to God," she sang, and past afar,
Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood,
Toward the morning-star.
Losing her carol I stood pensively,
As one that from a casement leans his head,
When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly,
And the old year is dead.
"Alas! alas!" a low voice, full of care,
Murmur'd beside me: "Turn and look on me :
I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair,
If what I was I be.
"Would I had been some maiden coarse and poor! O me, that I should ever see the light! Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor
Do hunt me, day and night."
She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust:
With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping beams,
Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery