« 이전계속 »
Weeping, weeping late and early,
Walking up and pacing down, Deeply mourned the Lord of Burleigh,
Burleigh-house, by Stamford-town. And he came to look upon her,
And he looked at her and said, “ Bring the dress, and put it on her,
That she wore when she was wed.”
Bore to earth her body, drest
That her spirit might have rest.
She was a phantom of Delight.
She was a Phantom of delight
I saw her upon nearer view,
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
Beside the ruined tower.
Had blended with the lights of eve;
My own dear Genevieve!
The statue of the armed knight;
Amid the lingering light.
My hope, my joy, my Genevieve!
The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story-
The ruin wild and hoary.
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,
Interpreted my own.
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
Too fondly on her face!
Which crazed this bold and lovely knight, And that he crossed the mountain woods,
Nor rested day nor night;
And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once,
In green and sunny glade,
An angel, beautiful and bright;
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 how she tended him in vainAnd ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain ;
And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away
A dying man he lay;
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The rich and balmy eve;
An undistinguishable throng !
Subdued and cherished long! She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love and maiden shame; And, like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
As conscious of my look, she stepped —
She fled to me and wept.
She pressed me with a meek embrace,
And gazed upon my face.