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The Literary Gazette, 22nd September 1827, page 621
ORIGINAL POETRY.
BALLAD.
"O go not forth to night, my child,
O go not forth to night;
The rain beats down, the wind is wild,
And not a star has light."
"The rain it will but wash my plume,
The wind but wave it dry;
And for such quest as mine, mirk gloom
Is welcome in the sky.
And little will the warder know
What step is gliding near;
One only eye will watch below,
One only ear will hear.
A hundred men keep watch and ward,
But what is that to me?
And when hath ever love been barred
From where he wills to be?
Go, mother, with thy maiden band,
And make the chamber bright;
The loveliest lady in the land
Will be thy guest to-night."
He flung him on his raven steed—
He spurr'd it o'er the plain;
The bird, the arrow, have such speed:—
His mother called in vain.
"His sword is sharp, his steed is fleet,—
St. Marie, be his guide;
And I'll go make a welcome meet
For his young stranger-bride."
And soon the waxen tapers threw
Their fragrance on the air,
And flowers of every morning hue
Yielded their sweet lives there.
