Knight and burgher, lord and dame, Who is this? and what is here? Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot : But Lancelot mused a little space; MARIANA IN THE SOUTH. I. WITH One black shadow at its feet, The house through all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines: But "Ave Mary," made she moan, II. She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down Through rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown To left and right, and made appear, "Madonna, sad is night and morn;" And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." III. Till all the crimson changed, and past Low on her knees herself she cast, The clear perfection of her face. 66 'Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?" And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." 6 IV. Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, And seemed knee-deep in mountain grass, She breathed in sleep a lower moan, V. Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She felt he was and was not there. She woke the babble of the stream Fell, and without the steady glare Shrank the sick olive sere and small. The river-bed was dusty white; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall. She whispered, with a stifled moan VI. And, rising, from her bosom drew An image seemed to pass the door, "O cruel heart," she changed her tone, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!" VII. But sometimes in the falling day An image seemed to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, "But thou shalt be alone no more." |