« ZurückWeiter »
One by one the pale stars faded, and at length the morning broke; But not one of all the sleepers on that field of death awoke.,
Slowly passed the golden hours of that long bright summer day, And upon that field of carnage still the dead unburied lay:
Lay there stark and cold, but pleading with a dumb, unceasing prayer,
But the foemen held possession of that hard-won battle-plain,
Once again the night dropped round them-night so holy and so calm That the moonbeams hushed the spirit, like the sound of prayer or psalm.
On a couch of trampled grasses, just apart from all the rest,
To the marble limbs so perfect in their passionless repose,
And the broken drum beside him all his life's short story told:
Midnight came with ebon garments and a diadem of stars,
Hark! a sound of stealthy footsteps and of voices whispering low-
Clinging closely to each other, striving never to look round.
Came two little maidens-sisters-with a light and hasty tread,
And they did not pause nor falter till, with throbbing hearts, they stood
Where the Drummer-boy was lying in that partial solitude.
They had brought some simple garments from their wardrobe's scanty
And two heavy iron shovels in their slender hands they bore.
Then they quickly knelt beside him, crushing back the pitying tears, For they had no time for weeping, nor for any girlish fears.
And they robed the icy body, while no glow of maiden shame
For their saintly hearts yearned o'er it in that hour of sorest need,
And the form that lay before them its unwonted garments wore.
Then with slow and weary labour a small grave they hollowed out, And they lined it with the withered grass and leaves that lay about. But the day was slowly breaking ere their holy work was done, And in crimson pomp the morning again heralded the sun.
And then those little maidens-they were children of our foesLaid the body of our Drummer-boy to undisturbed repose.
CONSIDER the sea's listless chime:
Is the sea's end. Our sight may pass
No quiet, which is death's-it hath
Listen alone beside the sea
Listen alone among the woods:
Shall have one sound alike to thee:
Hark where the murmurs of throngèd men
Surge, and sink back, and surge again—
Still the one voice of wave and tree.
Gather a shell from the strown beach,
CHRISTINA GABRIELLA ROSSETTI.
My heart is like a singing-bird
Whose nest is in a watered shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thickset fruit; My heart is like a rainbow shell That paddles in a halcyon seaMy heart is gladder than all these, Because my love is come to me.
Raise me a dais of silk and down,
Hang it with vair and purple dyes, Carve it in doves, and pomegranates, And peacocks with a hundred eyes; Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves, and silver fleurs-de-lys, Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.
SING NO SAD SONGS FOR ME.
WHEN I am dead, my dearest,
CHRISTINA GABRIELLA ROSSETTI.
Be the green grass above me
I shall not see the shadows,
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,