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THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE.
"The woodland calm is pure—
I cannot choose hut have
A thought, from these, o' the beechen-trees
Which, in our England, wave;
And of the little finches fine,
Which sang there, while in Palestine
The warrior-hilt we drave.
I cannot choose hut have
A thought, from these, o' the beechen-trees
Which, in our England, wave;
And of the little finches fine,
Which sang there, while in Palestine
The warrior-hilt we drave.
"Methinks, a moment gone,
I heard my mother pray!
I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me
Wherein she passed away;
And I know the Heavens are leaning down
To hear what I shall say."
I heard my mother pray!
I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me
Wherein she passed away;
And I know the Heavens are leaning down
To hear what I shall say."
The page spake calm and high,
As of no mean degree;
Perhaps he felt in nature's broad
Full heart, his own was free!
And the knight looked up to his lifted eye,
Then answered smilingly:—
As of no mean degree;
Perhaps he felt in nature's broad
Full heart, his own was free!
And the knight looked up to his lifted eye,
Then answered smilingly:—
"Sir page, I pray your grace!
Certes, I meant not so
To cross your pastoral mood, sir page,
With the crook of the battle-bow;
But a knight may speak of a lady's face,
I trow, in any mood or place,
If the grasses die or grow.
Certes, I meant not so
To cross your pastoral mood, sir page,
With the crook of the battle-bow;
But a knight may speak of a lady's face,
I trow, in any mood or place,
If the grasses die or grow.
"And this, I meant to say,—
My lady's face shall shine
As ladies' faces use, to greet
My page from Palestine:
Or, speak she fair, or prank she gay,
She is no lady of mine.
My lady's face shall shine
As ladies' faces use, to greet
My page from Palestine:
Or, speak she fair, or prank she gay,
She is no lady of mine.
"And this, I meant to fear,—
Her bower may suit thee ill!
Her bower may suit thee ill!
