Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/402
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THE MURCIAN CAVALIER.
Whether it had been hope, or sought
But the water's overflow;
The sound had passed away that came
F rom the deep dell below.
. . . The fairest face in Spain is wet
With the falling dews of air!
That heart, for which so many pine,
Is watching for a distant sign,
As if life were treasured there!
But the water's overflow;
The sound had passed away that came
F rom the deep dell below.
. . . The fairest face in Spain is wet
With the falling dews of air!
That heart, for which so many pine,
Is watching for a distant sign,
As if life were treasured there!
. . . 'Tis the trampling now of horse's hoofs,
For the river wave is still,
That scarce beyond the forest's edge
Is gaining on the hill: . . .
"Yester-morn," said that Lady,
"I was Queen of high Castile;
But the hour is come that I must leave
These princely towers, a fugitive,
And a wanderer at will."
For the river wave is still,
That scarce beyond the forest's edge
Is gaining on the hill: . . .
"Yester-morn," said that Lady,
"I was Queen of high Castile;
But the hour is come that I must leave
These princely towers, a fugitive,
And a wanderer at will."
The Queen has left the battlement
Without a sigh or tear!
That horseman fleet that kneels at her feet
Is the Murcian Cavalier;
But to his vows of love and truth
She spoke not once again;
For her heart was swelling in her breast
With grief subdued and fear supprest,
As it would rend in twain.
Without a sigh or tear!
That horseman fleet that kneels at her feet
Is the Murcian Cavalier;
But to his vows of love and truth
She spoke not once again;
For her heart was swelling in her breast
With grief subdued and fear supprest,
As it would rend in twain.
They have journeyed on by day, by night,
Till behind them many a mile;
They left the wandering Tagus' course,
And the plains of fair Castile;
. . . Soft and cool the eventide fell
On the heats of the high-day noon;
The fiery sun's descending blaze
Had covered with a purple haze
The woods of dark Leon.
Till behind them many a mile;
They left the wandering Tagus' course,
And the plains of fair Castile;
. . . Soft and cool the eventide fell
On the heats of the high-day noon;
The fiery sun's descending blaze
Had covered with a purple haze
The woods of dark Leon.
These woods, so deep, or lone, and wild,
The Queen surveyed, and sighed!
She turned to catch a distant gleam
Of the Douro's yellow tide;
With intermingling tops, the trees
An awful covering made;
And then that sky, of dusky red,
The dead of night had been less dread
Than that uncertain shade.
The Queen surveyed, and sighed!
She turned to catch a distant gleam
Of the Douro's yellow tide;
With intermingling tops, the trees
An awful covering made;
And then that sky, of dusky red,
The dead of night had been less dread
Than that uncertain shade.