210
Guendolen.
In the fitful pauses of wind and rain,
Tapped his beak at the window pane.
Tapped his beak at the window pane.
The wind is high and the clouds fly fast,
But the stars shine out and the rain is past.
"Oh, for the first gray glance of morn!
Oh, for a blast of Sir Ethel's horn!
Chill is my heart, I know not why.
Haunting the night with its boding eye,
With crest erect, and ruffled wing,
My bird sits watchful on its swing;
In his sleep the hound whines soft,
The bat drops down from his flight aloft;
She pauses with a fearful start,
With eyes upraised, and lips apart,
And locked hands clasped across her heart.
Shrill through the wind, far up the glen,
What voice had shrieked "Help, Guendolen!"
Glancing up at the casement high,
She catches a glimpse of the western sky,
But nothing sees save the stars that stand
At anchor in its dark lagoon,
But the stars shine out and the rain is past.
"Oh, for the first gray glance of morn!
Oh, for a blast of Sir Ethel's horn!
Chill is my heart, I know not why.
Haunting the night with its boding eye,
With crest erect, and ruffled wing,
My bird sits watchful on its swing;
In his sleep the hound whines soft,
The bat drops down from his flight aloft;
She pauses with a fearful start,
With eyes upraised, and lips apart,
And locked hands clasped across her heart.
Shrill through the wind, far up the glen,
What voice had shrieked "Help, Guendolen!"
Glancing up at the casement high,
She catches a glimpse of the western sky,
But nothing sees save the stars that stand
At anchor in its dark lagoon,
