ROSABELLE.
"The night is blind with a double dark,
And rain and hail come down together—
'Tis well to sit by the fire and hark
To the stormy weather.
And rain and hail come down together—
'Tis well to sit by the fire and hark
To the stormy weather.
"The beggar lies down in the misty dell,
And the peasant faces the eddying storm;
But you that weep, fair Rosabelle,
Sit housed and warm."
And the peasant faces the eddying storm;
But you that weep, fair Rosabelle,
Sit housed and warm."
"Better be out on the barren hills
With the wild night blowing my sorrow blind,
Than listening here to my heart that thrills
Like a bell that's tolled by the passing wind."
With the wild night blowing my sorrow blind,
Than listening here to my heart that thrills
Like a bell that's tolled by the passing wind."
"You may wander all day with a page at your rein,
Greyhounds to follow, and hawks for your wrist,
East and west, through your lord's domain,
Whither you list.
Greyhounds to follow, and hawks for your wrist,
East and west, through your lord's domain,
Whither you list.
"When you ride through the town in the even light,
Pacing your steed 'neath the elms tall and shady,
Each village girl all the summer night
Dreams she's a lady."
Pacing your steed 'neath the elms tall and shady,
Each village girl all the summer night
Dreams she's a lady."
"Would I were hearing the evening hymn
My mother sings to the babe on her knee,
Or floating by dawn o'er the waters dim
Roland, my brother, alone with thee!
My mother sings to the babe on her knee,
Or floating by dawn o'er the waters dim
Roland, my brother, alone with thee!
My step is faint in your bannered halls,
Where the bright armour flashes, the windows high—
Slit through the rock of the massive walls—
Frame in a strip of the fair blue sky.
Where the bright armour flashes, the windows high—
Slit through the rock of the massive walls—
Frame in a strip of the fair blue sky.
By the long lance windows, the deep arched door
Shadows stand fighting the golden light,
And the leap of a hound on the oaken floor
Rings like the tread of an armèd knight.
Shadows stand fighting the golden light,
And the leap of a hound on the oaken floor
Rings like the tread of an armèd knight.
In the niches arched over pale figures of stone,
There are voices that mimic my bursting sighs;
And the jewels that tremble around my zone
Mock me with scorn in their flashing eyes.
There are voices that mimic my bursting sighs;
And the jewels that tremble around my zone
Mock me with scorn in their flashing eyes.
My sleek greyhound and my merlin bold
Chafe at restraining; the steed I rein
Wantonly bears on the curb of gold—
Slighting my will with a high disdain.
Chafe at restraining; the steed I rein
Wantonly bears on the curb of gold—
Slighting my will with a high disdain.
How goes the night in the fisher's cot?
Is the boat safe moored? Does the hearth shine clear?
Are they jesting together while I, forgot,
Link every thought to a falling tear?
Is the boat safe moored? Does the hearth shine clear?
Are they jesting together while I, forgot,
Link every thought to a falling tear?
If Roland is out in his fisher's bark,
My mother sings low to the child on her knee,
My father stops mending his nets to mark
How the wind with the sea-birds is skimming the sea.
My mother sings low to the child on her knee,
My father stops mending his nets to mark
How the wind with the sea-birds is skimming the sea.
With ray sad eyes and my rich attire,
Lifting the latch, should I enter there,
Old Raoul, the bloodhound, that dreams by the fire,
Would rouse him to threaten my pale despair.
Lifting the latch, should I enter there,
Old Raoul, the bloodhound, that dreams by the fire,
Would rouse him to threaten my pale despair.
Early in March, ere the spring winds blow,
Ere the hill-snows melt or the skies look bland,
On the lone white shore where the tide is low
They shall hollow my grave in the sloping sand.
Ere the hill-snows melt or the skies look bland,
On the lone white shore where the tide is low
They shall hollow my grave in the sloping sand.