Classic Poem

Oh, merry and good is a blooming wood
On a calm, clear afternoon,
When every maid, in a flowery hood,
Sings, as every maiden should
In the leafy shades of June: —
When every light form wears the proof
Of what beneath her homestead roof
The loom of Winter weaves, —
The blue, and green, and scarlet woof,
The white and flowing sleeves: —
When every archer bends his bow,
To bid the laughing arrow go
Among the laughing leaves!

And merry the call to a Christmas hall,
Where nuts and ale abound,
Where music, with gusty rise and all,
Chases the revellers dancing all
In many a mazy round.

But louder, clearer, merrier yet
The music and mirth together met
What time the evening feast was set
And the tournament was through:
The knights came in, each waving plume
Sending a murmur through the room,
And, bowing to eyes they deemed most sweet
Each knelt before his lady's feet,
To receive the trophy due.

But where was Esther's champion?
Had he no tourney-honor won?
And must the flower her turban wore
Remain unclaimed, and feel the blight
Of all that withering festal light?
She plucked the rose with fingers white,
And tore the leaves before their sight
And strewed them on the floor.

That feasting-hall was a sight to see,
And, seen, it must remembered be:

A hundred banners lined the wall,
Festooning over swords and spears,
And thrice a soore of chandeliers
Made such a glory through the hall
As only summer noonday wears;
And many a mirror, wide and tall,
Decked with flowers on golden piers,
Caught the splendor, and echoed it all,
As if to stretch the gorgeous place
Into the outer halls of space.
As it were to last a thousand years.

All, all was bright as summer waves
That sing and dance on a flowery shore,
Where the billow decks the bank it laves
With pearls, and then retreats for more.
The only shadows around the feast
Were a score of turbaned, Nubian slaves
Arrayed in livery of the East.

The merriest sounds o'erflowed the scene,
While flashed the brimming wine between,
Where each, from the cup he loved to quaff,
Caught something of its vineyard laugh.
There was whispered love, soft words of bliss
On lips Adonis would die to kiss,
Rustle of silks, and rattle of fans,
Tinkling of glasses, and, crowning this,
Music that swelled from invisible clans: —
Till, closing his eyes, the listener heard
The rush of a woodland waterfall,
And all the leaves of the forest stirred
By a flutter of wings, and the noisy call
Of every loudest-throated bird.

The feast was past, the toast was said,
The inevitable speeches made,
And the long-cheered, triumphant two
Breathed easier, and drank anew.

'Twas now that one of the leading knights
Bowed, and, with soft persuasion long,
Prayed, as a wreath to their delights,
Our maid would crown the hour with song.

In vain her timid lips demurred:
The praise of her voice so much was heard,
They would not take the denying word.
In view of this, a harp had been,
Only a moment past, brought in.
And there in a flood of light it shone
Golden on its waiting throne.

At length, upon her father's arm,
And bidding her page beside her stay,
She went, though tremorous with alarm,
And Andre, bowing, led the way.
She gained the throne, and sat thereon:
Her breath came short for such a need;
One glance across the room she sent,
A thousand eyes were on her bent;
They seemed a thousand arrows drawn,
And she the victim that must bleed.

One long sustaining breath she drew,
Her drooping lids shut out the view, —
Till, suddenly dashing her veil aside,
And flinging her golden ringlets wide,
Her arms around the harp she pressed,
Loving it with her loving breast,
As if its touch her fears might smother.
And now her hands along the strings
Flashed daringly across each other,
As when two birds, at dividing wires,
Outsinging all the woodland choirs,
Flutter with half-invisible wings.
When climbed her fingers high and higher.
Twinkling among the treble notes
There seemed unnumbered silver throats,
Thrilling the sky with wild desire;
Then sudden lightnings flashed their fire,
Till, in the heavier chords below,
The thunder dealt its rumbling blow;
And now the rain was shivered down,
And all the tempest-bugles blown.

Then came her voice: at first 'twas low,
Like a sweet brook among the rushes;
But, like that brook, its further flow
Swelled soon to fuller, nobler gushes.

SONG .

I.

In the vanished time and olden,
Ere the ages yet were golden,
A great king ruled his misty isles
In sullen state alone,
Till, hearing of a maiden
With marvellous beauty laden,
He swore she must be brought to him
To tend beside his throne.

II.

And forthwith every vassal
Who dwelt beside his castle
Was sent to bring the maiden in
Before the morrow morn;
And straightway to her bower
They went in all their power:
But she met them with her noble mien
And scorned them with her scorn.

III.

" Go, tell your tyrant master
Earth threatens no disaster
So direful to a maiden's soul
As is a monarch's smile;
That Death shall wed me rather
'Neath the roof-tree of my father,
Than I should serve the greatest king
That ever ruled an isle. "

IV.

Then laughed they loud derision
At the poor defenceless vision
Of a simple maid who dared alone
Defy their mighty king;
" Then come, " they cried, " the trial;
Our lord brooks no denial:
Your slender wrists must bear the bands
Our master bade us bring. "

V.

But, firm in her reliance,
With a glance of fierce defiance
She looked into their cowering eyes,
That drooped as in disgrace!
But, remembering royal anger,
With a sudden clash and clangor
They drew their mighty falchions forth
And flashed them in her face.

VI.

A moment, as in sadness,
She looked upon their madness,
With calm, white arms serenely there
Upon her bosom laid;
Then, with no thrill of terror,
But smiling at their error,
Three times she clapped her snowy hands,
And signalled thus for aid.

VII.

Three times her palms resounded,
And at once she stood surrounded
By noble brothers rushing in
From every native field:
Their forms were rough and tawny,
But their limbs were lithe and brawny,
And, instead of taking captives there,
The captors now must yield.

VIII.

And, against their own consenting,
She sent them back repenting.
The mad king cropt their coward ears
To satisfy his wrath:
And still that noble maiden,
With all her beauty laden.
Went singing on her happy way,
With honor in her path.

Scarce had the last word left her tongue,
And while the chord still trembling hung
From which the bird-like note had sprung,
There rose a tumult wild without,
A hurried rush of loud alarms,
The flash of flames, the sentinel's shout,
With startled drums that beat to arms.
The shuddering guests no more could doubt,
But quaked to think the rebel crew
Had burst in all their midnight power
Upon them, in their revel hour,
To act the Trenton scene anew.

What meant that glow whose fearful shine
Illumined the abatis-line,
Which fired the scene, as if to light
The horrors of the coming fight?

Now could they hear the mounted troop
Like hungry vultures round them swoop,
And see the clattering hoofs of steel
Where lightning flashed from every heel.

Out rushed the guardian ranks aflame,
To put the intruding crew to shame;
But, strange to tell, without a blow,
To say that there had been the foe,
The troopers fled, and left behind
Their mocking laughter on the wind.
The guards pursued them past the town,
By the same road which brought them down,
And soon the sentinels descried
The line returning, flushed with pride.

Then laughter filled the hall again,
While pleasure took the place of pain,
And every happy face was lit
With this fresh source of mirth and wit,
And music spread its circling wing
To lead the dance in ampler swing.

But what was wrong? What ailed Sir Hugh?
Why sought he thus the assembly through?
What were the questions he would pour
At every outward-leading door?
At last he stood, with sigh long drawn, —
Both Ugo and the maid were gone.

One said that while the guardian troop
Had gone to beat the rebels back,
He saw descend a hasty group
Across the lawn, and some were black, —
A part of that same turbaned horde
Who tended while the wine was poured, —
And that they moved towards a bark: —
To shield them, then, the white moon bowed
Behind a heavy wall of cloud: —
He saw no more, for all was dark.