Читать книгу The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 360, March 14, 1829 - Various - Страница 3

A gallant knight and a lady bright

Walk'd by a crystal lake;

The twin'd oaks made a grateful shade

Above the fangled brake,

While the trembling leaves of aspen trees

A murmuring music make.

And as they spoke, round them echoes woke

To tales of love and glory;

The knight was brave, though of love the slave,

And the dame lov'd gallant story—

Proudly he told deeds gentle and bold,

Of warriors dead or hoary.

Like babe at rest on its mother's breast,

On that an island lay—

So still and fair reigned Nature there—

So bright the glist'ring spray,

You might have thought the scene had been wrought

By spell of faun or fay.

On the island's edge, midst tangled sedge,

Lay a wreath of wild flow'rs blue—

The broad flag-leaf was their sweet relief,

When the heat too fervid grew;

And the willow's shade a shelter made,

When stormy tempests blew.

And as they stood, the faithful flood

Gave back ev'ry line and trace

Of earth below and heaven above,

And their own forms gallant grace—

For forms more fair than that lovely pair

Ne'er shone on its liquid face.

"I would a flower from that bright bower

Some nymph would waft to me—

For in my eyes a dearer prize

Than glitt'ring gem 'twould be—

For its changeless blue seems emblem true

Of love's own constancy."

The maiden spake, and no more the lake

In slumb'ring stillness lay,

For from the side of his destin'd bride

The knight has pass'd away;

In vain the maid's soft words essay'd

His rash pursuit to stay.

He has reach'd the tower, and pluck'd the flower.

And turn'd from the verdant spot.

Ah, hapless knight! some Naiad bright

Woo'd thee to her coral grot;

And forbids that more to touch that shore

Shall ever be thy lot.

Vainly he tried to gain the side,

Where knelt his lady-love;

Flagg'd every limb, his eyes grew dim,

But still the spirit strove.

One effort more—he flings to shore

The flow'r so dear to prove.

'Tis past! 'tis past! that look his last,

That fond sad glance of love

The bubbling wave his farewell gave

In the moan, "Forget me not."