Christine [pp. 171-182]

Christine: A Troubadour's Song.
The skies of Provence
Are bright with her glance,
And nature's matin organ floods
The world with music from the myriad throats
Of the winged Troubadours, whose joyous notes
Brighten the rollingo requiem of the woods.
With mnelody, flowers, and light
Htt,h the maiden come to play,
As fragile, fair, and bright
And lovelier than they a
O no, she has come to her bower
That blooms by the dark Iserc
For the bridegroom who named the first hour
Of day-dawn to meet her there:
But the bridal morn on the hills is born
And the bridegroom is not here.
Iie thee hither, Savoyard,
On such ana errand youth rides hard.
Never knight so dutiful
Maiden failed so beautiful:
And she in such sweet need,
And he so bold and true! She will watch by the long green avenue
Till it quakes to the tramp of his steed;
Till it echoes the neigh of the gallant Grey
Spurred to the top of his speed.
In the dark, green, lonely avenue
The Ladye her love-watch keepeth,
Listening so close that she can hear
The very dripping of the dew
Stirred by the worm as it creepeth;
Straining her ear
For her lover's coming
Till his steed seems near
In the bee's far humming.
She stands in the silent avenue,
Her back to a cypress tree;
O Savoyard once bold and true,
Late bridegroom, where canst thou be?
Hark! o'er the bridge that spans the river
There cometh a clattering tread,
Never was shaft from mortal quiver
Ever so swiftly sped.
Onward the sound,
Bound after bound,
Leapeth along the tremulous ground.
From the nodding forest darting,
Leaves, like water, round them parting,
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