WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day;
All the jolly chase is here
With hawk and horse and hunting-spear; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green; Now we come to chant our lay, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay, To the greenwood haste away; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd; You shall see him brought to bay; Waken, lords and ladies gay.
Louder, louder chant the lay, Waken, lords and ladies gay ! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we;
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk;
Think of this and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay!
BEHOLD her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; Oh listen! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travelers, in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands:
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago:
Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending; I listen'd till I had my fill; And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more.
HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo,
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nursed with tender care, 1 Note 1.
« ZurückWeiter » |