A MASKED BALL.
81
There, with forlornest beauty wan,
Young Amy Robsart walked unseen,
While my Lord Leicester's looks were on
Elizabeth, his gracious queen.
Young Amy Robsart walked unseen,
While my Lord Leicester's looks were on
Elizabeth, his gracious queen.
There—though the blonde Rowena gazed,
Gold-haired and stately, with surprise—
Jewelled and dark, Rebecca raised
The Saxon knight half-wistful eyes.
Gold-haired and stately, with surprise—
Jewelled and dark, Rebecca raised
The Saxon knight half-wistful eyes.
And there, despite his inky cloak,
The melancholy Dane seemed gay,
And to Polonius' daughter spoke
Things Shakespeare does not have him say.
The melancholy Dane seemed gay,
And to Polonius' daughter spoke
Things Shakespeare does not have him say.
"I think," he said, "I know you by
That most fantastic wreath you wear."
She, with a little languid sigh,
Asked—if his father's ghost were there.
That most fantastic wreath you wear."
She, with a little languid sigh,
Asked—if his father's ghost were there.
"That voice—though veiled, it can not hide.
One trifling favour I would ask:
Give me—Yourself." "No, no," she cried;
"You are—a stranger in a mask."
One trifling favour I would ask:
Give me—Yourself." "No, no," she cried;
"You are—a stranger in a mask."
