Spring Roses

GREEN-LEAFY Whitsuntide was come,
To gladden many a Christian home: —
Spake then King Engelbert, — u A fitter
Time than this we scarce shall see
For tournament and revel rie:
Ho! to horse, each valiant Kitter!"

Gay banners wave above the walls, —
The herald's trumpet loudly calls,
And beauteous eyes rain radiant glances!
And of all the knights can none
Match the Monarch's gallant son,
In the headlong shock of lances!

Till, at the close, a Stranger came, —
Japan-black iron cased his frame;
In his air was somewhat kingly:
Well I guess, that stalwart knight
Yet will overcome in fight
All the hosts of Europe singly.

As he flings his gage to earth
You hear no more the sound of mirth, —
All shrink back, as dreading danger:
The Prince alone defies the worst —
Alas! in vain! He falls, unhorsed:
Sole victor bides the Sable Stranger!

Boots now no longer steed or lance:
"Light up the hall! — a dance! — a dance!"
Anon a dazzling throng assembles;
And then and there that Dark Unscanned
Asks the Koyal Maiden's hand,
Whilk she gives, albeit it trembles.

And as they dance — the Dark and Fair —
In the Maiden's breast arid hair
Every golden clasp uncloses,
And, to and fro — that way and this —
Drops dimmed each pearl and amethyss —
Drop dead the shrivelled yellow roses.

But who makes merriest at the feast?
Not he who furnished it at least!
Sad is he for son and daughter!
Fears that reason cannot bind
Chase each other through his mind,
Swift and dark as midnight water!

So pale both youth and maiden were!
Whereon the Guest, affecting care,
Spake, " Blushful wine will mend your colour,"
Filled he then a beaker up,
And they — they drank; but oh! that cup
Proved in sooth a draught of dolour!

Their eyelids droop, and neither speaks;
They kiss their father; and their cheeks,
Pale before, wax white and shrunken:
Momently their death draws nigher,
He, the while, their wretched sire,
Gazing on them, terror-drunken!

"Spare these! Take me!" he shrieked, and pressed
The stone-cold corpses to his breast;
When, to that heart-smitten father
Spake the Guest, with iron voice,
"Autumn-spoils are not my choice;
Roses in the Spring I gather!"