A MEDLEY.
17
In the green gleam of dewy-tassell'd trees:
What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth?
Proud look'd the lips: but while I meditated
A wind arose and rush'd upon the South,
And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks
Of the wild woods together; and a Voice
Went with it 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.'
What were those fancies? wherefore break her troth?
Proud look'd the lips: but while I meditated
A wind arose and rush'd upon the South,
And shook the songs, the whispers, and the shrieks
Of the wild woods together; and a Voice
Went with it 'Follow, follow, thou shalt win.'
Then, ere the silver sickle of that month
Became her golden shield, I stole from court
With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived.
Down from the bastion'd walls we dropt by night,
And flying reach'd the frontier: then we crost
To a livelier land; and so by town and thorpe,
And tilth, and blowing bosks of wilderness,
We gain'd the mother-city thick with towers,
And in the imperial palace found the king.
His name was Gama; crack'd and small his voice;
A little dry old man, without a star,
Not like a king; three days he feasted us,
Became her golden shield, I stole from court
With Cyril and with Florian, unperceived.
Down from the bastion'd walls we dropt by night,
And flying reach'd the frontier: then we crost
To a livelier land; and so by town and thorpe,
And tilth, and blowing bosks of wilderness,
We gain'd the mother-city thick with towers,
And in the imperial palace found the king.
His name was Gama; crack'd and small his voice;
A little dry old man, without a star,
Not like a king; three days he feasted us,
