Weeping, weeping late and early, 66 And he looked at her and said, Bring the dress, and put it on her, That she wore when she was wed." Then her people, softly treading, Bore to earth her body, drest In the dress that she was wed in, She was a Phantom of Delight. SHE was a Phantom of delight To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; TENNYSON. I saw her upon nearer view, Her household motions light and free, A countenance in which did meet And now I see with eye serene WORDSWORTH. Love. ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I The moonshine stealing o'er the scene She leaned against the armed man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving storyAn old rude song, that fitted well The ruin wild and hoary. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand, And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined; and, ah! The low, the deep, the pleading tone, With which I sang another's love, Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace; But when I told the cruel scorn Which crazed this bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once, In green and sunny glade, There came, and looked him in the face, An angel, beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a fiend, This miserable knight! And how, unknowing what he did, He leaped amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage worse than death The Lady of the Land; And how she wept and clasped his knees, And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain; And that she nursed him in a cave; His dying words-But when I reached All impulses of soul and sense Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, She wept with pity and delight, She blushed with love and maiden shame; Her bosom heaved-she stepped aside; She half enclosed me with her arms, She pressed me with a meek embrace, And, bending back her head, looked up, And gazed upon my face. |