IV

High on a barb whose trappings shone

Inlaid with laton, gold of hue,

Star-bright amid the dawn and dew;

Proud on his lordly-stepping roan

He rode, and seemed of chivalry

The star, until he stood alone

Before the Court and spoke his lie,

And said,--(for him, too, heart and tongue,

Mark's gold had bought)--"I saw him die.

Alas! for one so brave and young!

But better so than still to be

A madman and a mockery!"--

Then smiled around the questioning Court

As one who brought no ill report....

And she believed. And front to front

With all her misery that eve,--

Which, sombre-visaged, o'er the mount,

Above Day's burning bier did grieve

And bow her melancholy star,--

With tearful eyes she watched the light

Streak all the heaven with blood afar;

And lingered far into the night,

Lamenting at her casement-bar.

V

"Oh, I'm like one who o'er her light,

Her lamp of love, bends down, when, lo!

All on a sudden, out of night,

Dashing it down, there comes a blow

That leaves all darkness; and she hears

A demon whispering in the gloom,

That shuts her in with all her fears,"

So thought she, lonely in her room.

Then took her lute and touched such airs

As Tristram loved, sad songs of Breön,

She once had heard, all unawares,

Sir Launcelot sing in old Caerleön,

To Guinevere upon the stairs,

The terrace stairs, beside the Usk,

Deep in the nightingale-haunted dusk.

Then ceased, and wept until the stars,

Seen through her tears, made heaven all tears,

On fire with tears, that left their scars

Upon its face; and all the years

Of grief and love seemed in their spheres:

And reaching out her arms she cried,

"O God! O God! that I had died!

O Tristram! Tristram! art thou near?

O love, be near me in this hour!

This hour of anguish and of fear!

Which,--(like yon fountain's ceaseless foam,

Unseen, beneath this starlit tower,

Deep in the shadow of its dome),--

Throbs on and on within my life,

The utter darkness of its woe.--

O hour of grief! O hour of strife!

Why must my young heart suffer so?

Why must my sick soul sigh and sigh,

And God not hear nor let me die?"

The Poems of Madison Cawein, Volume 1 (of 5) Lyrics and old world idylls · 第 198 / 286 题