Poems (May)/Lady Clare
LADY CLARE.
I'll drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare,
Ere the priest dons his gown and the marriage-bells call;
While the bridemaidens ravel the snood from your hair,
And the bridegroom stands waiting your step in the hall!
I scorn you nor mourn you, nor praise nor reprove,
I drink to the lips that first wiled me to love;
But the lute of your love-tones no dearer shall be
Than the bound of the stag down the craggy ravine,
The cry of my sleuth hound, my horn winded free,
Upstarting the doe from her covert of green
The hawk you've unhooded plumes wing for the air:
I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
Ere the priest dons his gown and the marriage-bells call;
While the bridemaidens ravel the snood from your hair,
And the bridegroom stands waiting your step in the hall!
I scorn you nor mourn you, nor praise nor reprove,
I drink to the lips that first wiled me to love;
But the lute of your love-tones no dearer shall be
Than the bound of the stag down the craggy ravine,
The cry of my sleuth hound, my horn winded free,
Upstarting the doe from her covert of green
The hawk you've unhooded plumes wing for the air:
I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
Gray clings the mist to the river; the cloud
That trails from the mountain is black as despair;
Your bird keeps its perch, and your hound whines aloud,
And the ravens croak out from the wood, Lady Clare!
Faint o'er the pavement the daylight is thrown
'Mid columns and arches, through doorways of stone;
Faint on the walls, and the hunting-knives laid
On antlers suspended, scarce shown through the gloom;
On the staghounds that crouch in the caverns of shade,
And the bridegroom that plays with the fringe of his plume,
And the guests that stand grouped at the foot of the stair,
While I drink a blithe bridal to you. Lady Clare!
That trails from the mountain is black as despair;
Your bird keeps its perch, and your hound whines aloud,
And the ravens croak out from the wood, Lady Clare!
Faint o'er the pavement the daylight is thrown
'Mid columns and arches, through doorways of stone;
Faint on the walls, and the hunting-knives laid
On antlers suspended, scarce shown through the gloom;
On the staghounds that crouch in the caverns of shade,
And the bridegroom that plays with the fringe of his plume,
And the guests that stand grouped at the foot of the stair,
While I drink a blithe bridal to you. Lady Clare!
Your glance may be warm, and your lips may be sweet,
But I'd rather be out where the doe makes her lair,
With my gun on my arm, and my dog at my feet,
Than stand at the altar with you. Lady Clare!
My heart you unleashed as your snood you unwound,
But I'll keep for a love-link one ringlet it bound.
I'll keep, for a love-link of days when I blessed
The breeze that your tresses had chased as it fanned,
The hawk on your glove, or the steed you caressed,
Or the greyhound that fawned at the touch of your hand—
I'll keep for a love-link one lock of your hair,
And I'll drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
But I'd rather be out where the doe makes her lair,
With my gun on my arm, and my dog at my feet,
Than stand at the altar with you. Lady Clare!
My heart you unleashed as your snood you unwound,
But I'll keep for a love-link one ringlet it bound.
I'll keep, for a love-link of days when I blessed
The breeze that your tresses had chased as it fanned,
The hawk on your glove, or the steed you caressed,
Or the greyhound that fawned at the touch of your hand—
I'll keep for a love-link one lock of your hair,
And I'll drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
I'll mind me no more how we wandered till night
Where the rowan tree rocks in the wild mountain air;
When your words fell as soft, and your foot fell as light
As a leaf that is loosed from the bough, Lady Clare!
And you smiled, and you wept, while we lingered alone,
As a flower keeps waving from shadow to sun.
Oh! dear were the love-words you whispered the while,
And your weeping, if sad, and your smiling, if gay!
Oh! false were your love-words, and false was your smile,
And false are the vows you must utter to-day!
As a dame casts her hawk, I will rid me of care,
While I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
Where the rowan tree rocks in the wild mountain air;
When your words fell as soft, and your foot fell as light
As a leaf that is loosed from the bough, Lady Clare!
And you smiled, and you wept, while we lingered alone,
As a flower keeps waving from shadow to sun.
Oh! dear were the love-words you whispered the while,
And your weeping, if sad, and your smiling, if gay!
Oh! false were your love-words, and false was your smile,
And false are the vows you must utter to-day!
As a dame casts her hawk, I will rid me of care,
While I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!