THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY
125
And clear and slow, repeat the vow—declare its cause and kind,
Which, not to break in sleep or wake, thou bearest on thy mind.
Onora in sleep.
I hear a vow of wicked kind, a vow for mournful cause:
I vowed it deep, I vowed it strong—the spirits laughed applause!
The spirits trailed, along the pines, low laughter like a breeze,
While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze.
Evil Spirit.
More calm and free,—speak out to me, why such a vow was made.
Onora in sleep.
Because that God decreed my death, and I shrank back afraid!
Have patience, O dead father mine! I did not fear to die;—
I wish I were a young dead child, and had thy company!
I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child,
And wearing only a kiss of thine, upon my lips that smiled!
The linden-tree that covers thee, might, so, have shadowed twain—
For death itself I did not fear—'tis love that makes the pain.
Love feareth death! I was no child—I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth-kiss on my lips, I could not give away!
How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone,
And feel mine own Betrothed go by—alas! no more mine own,—
Go leading by, in wedding pomp, some lovely lady brave,
With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were cold in grave?
How could I bear to sit in Heaven, on e'er so high a throne,
And hear him say to her—to her! that else he loveth none?
Though e'er so high I sate above, though e'er so low he spake,
As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take—
Which, not to break in sleep or wake, thou bearest on thy mind.
Onora in sleep.
I hear a vow of wicked kind, a vow for mournful cause:
I vowed it deep, I vowed it strong—the spirits laughed applause!
The spirits trailed, along the pines, low laughter like a breeze,
While, high atween their swinging tops, the stars appeared to freeze.
Evil Spirit.
More calm and free,—speak out to me, why such a vow was made.
Onora in sleep.
Because that God decreed my death, and I shrank back afraid!
Have patience, O dead father mine! I did not fear to die;—
I wish I were a young dead child, and had thy company!
I wish I lay beside thy feet, a buried three-year child,
And wearing only a kiss of thine, upon my lips that smiled!
The linden-tree that covers thee, might, so, have shadowed twain—
For death itself I did not fear—'tis love that makes the pain.
Love feareth death! I was no child—I was betrothed that day;
I wore a troth-kiss on my lips, I could not give away!
How could I bear to lie content and still beneath a stone,
And feel mine own Betrothed go by—alas! no more mine own,—
Go leading by, in wedding pomp, some lovely lady brave,
With cheeks that blushed as red as rose, while mine were cold in grave?
How could I bear to sit in Heaven, on e'er so high a throne,
And hear him say to her—to her! that else he loveth none?
Though e'er so high I sate above, though e'er so low he spake,
As clear as thunder I should hear the new oath he might take—
