Poems (Terry, 1861)/Rosalind

by Rose Terry Cooke

BALLADS.

BALLADS.

ROSALIND.

High on the hills Lord Heron he dwells,
 Rosalind sings on the moors below,
Faint as the sea in its singing shells,
 Up to the castle her soft notes go.

Young Lord Heron has left his state,
 Donned a doublet of hodden-gray;
Stolen out at the postern-gate,
 A silly shepherd, to wander away.

Rosalind keeps the heart of a_child,
 Tender and gentle and true is she;
Colin the shepherd is comely add mild,
 Tending his flocks by valley and lea.

Never shepherd has whispered before
 Words she hears at the close of day:—
"Rose of roses, I love thee more—
 More than the tenderest words can say.

"Though I seem but a shepherd lad,
 Down from a stately race I came;
In silks and jewels I'll have thee clad,
 And Lady of Heron shall be thy name."

Rosalind blushed a rosy red,
 Turned as pale as the hawthorn's blow,
Folded her kirtle over her head,
 And sped away like a startled doe.

"Rose of roses, come back to me!
 Leave me never!" Lord Heron cried,—
"Never!" echoed from hill and lea,
 "Never!" the lonely cliffs replied.

Loud he mourned a year and a day,
 But Lady Alice was fair to see;
The bright sun blesses his bridal day,
 And the castle-bells ring merrily.

Over the moors, like a rolling knell,
 Rosalind hears them slowly peal;
Low she mourned—"I loved him well,—
 Better I loved his mortal weal.

"Rest, Lord Heron, in Alice's arms,
 She is a lady of high degree;
Rosalind had but a peasant's charms,
 Ye bad rued the day ye wedded me!"

Lord Heron he dwells in the castle high,
 Rosalind sleeps on the moors below.
He loved, to live; and she loved, to die;
 Which loved truest, the angels know!