Poems (Dodd)/Rebecca's interview with Rowena
REBECCA'S INTERVIEW WITH ROWENA.
The fair Rowena musing sat, Her maidens by her side,And pleasant were her thoughts, I ween, That loved and happy bride.Who craves admittance to the bower? Who seeks the bride's retreat?Rowena raised her head and saw Rebecca at her feet.
"Lady, forgive this homage deep, The custom of my land,You see the Jewess, Wilfred saved With his own knightly hand.To you the grateful thanks I bring, Which to your lord I owe,Who fought against such fearful odds In the lists at Templestowe."
That there was sadness at her heart, Well did her glance express,As calm the Jewish maiden stood In unveiled loveliness. She gazed upon the open brow, The sunny, straying curl,And the soul-speaking, heaven-blue eyes Of the fair Saxon girl.
Her hand a silver casket holds, And bright its contents shine,A priceless gift of orient pearls, And diamonds of the mine."Lady, a trifle this contains From my own glittering store,I count them of no value now, I ne'er wear jewels more.
"Soon do we wander far away From merry England's shore,Bear to your lord my last adieu, I see his face no more.My prayers shall rise for Ivanhoe, However far removed,That happy be his lot, with one So fair and so beloved."
Then o'er her dark eye's lustrous light, There passed a shade of pain."Oh lady! take the baubles bright, I ne'er wear gems again! Think not my father's grateful heart Can be by gold defiled,Or prize these sparkling stones before The honor of his child.
"Mute are the harps by Jordan's waves, Where Judah woke their tone,And we have now no land, no home, That we may call our own.We see the Moslem's step defile The city of our love,And oft our sad and long tried hearts, Droop like the weary dove.
"Say, to the lord of Ivanhoe, My father seeks the hallsOf a dear brother of our name, Within Granada's walls.Tell him, our thoughts where'er we roam, Will on his kindness dwell;The sails are spread to waft us hence, I may not stay! farewell!"