With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns; Sees a mansion more majestic Than all those she saw before: Many a gallant gay domestic
Bows before him at the door. And they speak in gentle murmur, When they answer to his call, While he treads with footstep firmer, Leading on from hall to hall. And, while now she wonders blindly, Nor the meaning can divine, Proudly turns he round and kindly, 'All of this is mine and thine.' Here he lives in state and bounty, Lord of Burleigh, fair and free, Not a lord in all the county Is so great a lord as he.
All at once the colour flushes
Her sweet face from brow to chin: As it were with shame she blushes, And her spirit changed within. Then her countenance all over Pale again as death did prove:
But he clasp'd her like a lover,
And he cheer'd her soul with love. So she strove against her weakness, Tho' at times her spirits sank; Shaped her heart with woman's meekness To all duties of her rank: And a gentle consort made he,n? And her gentle mind was such
That she grew a noble lady,
And the people loved her much.
And perplex'd her, night and morn,
With the burden of an honour
Unto which she was not born. Faint she grew, and ever fainter,
And she murmur'd, Oh, that he Were once more that landscape-painter, Which did win my heart from me!' So she droop'd and droop'd before him, Fading slowly from his side: Three fair children first she bore him, Then before her time she died. Weeping, weeping late and early, Walking up and pacing down, Deeply mourn'd the Lord of Burleigh, Burleigh-house by Stamford-town. And he came to look upon her,
And he look'd 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, That her spirit might have rest.
LIKE souls that balance joy and pain, With tears and smiles from heaven again
Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
The maiden Spring upon the plain Came in a sun-lit fall of rain.
In crystal vapour everywhere Blue isles of heaven laugh'd between, And far, in forest-deeps unseen, The topmost elm-tree gather'd green From draughts of balmy air. S
Sometimes the linnet piped his song: Sometimes the throstle whistled strong: Sometimes the sparhawk, wheel'd along, Hush'd all the groves from fear of wrong: By grassy capes with fuller sound
In curves the yellowing river ran, And drooping chestnut-buds began To spread into the perfect fan, Above the teeming ground.
Then, in the boyhood of the year, Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere Rode thro' the coverts of the deer, With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring: A gown of grass-green silk she wore, Buckled with golden clasps before; A light-green tuft of plumes she bore Closed in a golden ring.
иначо сим то
Now on some twisted ivy-net, Now by some twinkling rivulet, In mosses mixt with violet,
Her cream-white mule his pastern set:
And fleeter now she skimm'd the plains
Than she whose elfin prancer springs By night to eery warblings,
When all the glimmering moorland rings With jingling bridle-reins.
As fast she fled thro' sun and shade, The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid: She look'd so lovely, as she sway'd
The rein with dainty finger-tips, A man had given all other bliss, And all his worldly worth for this, To waste his whole heart in one kiss Upon her perfect lips.
Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere
FLOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver : No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.
Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet then a river:
No where by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.
But here will sigh thine alder tree, And here thine aspen shiver; And here by thee will hum the bee, For ever and for ever.
A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver; But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever
THE BEGGAR MAID
HER arms across her breast she laid; She was more fair than words can say: Bare-footed came the beggar maid Before the king Cophetua.
In robe and crown the king stept down, To meet and greet her on her way: 'It is no wonder,' said the lords,
'She is more beautiful than day.'
As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen: One praised her ancles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been: Cophetua sware a royal oath :
This beggar maid shall be my queen!
I HAD a vision when the night was late : A youth came riding toward a palace-gate.
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