The fourth saw him free;
For Death's strong hand had loosed the martyr's bonds;
Where his freed spirit soars, who dares to doubt?
THE ROMANCE OF TENACHELLE.
BY HERCULES ELLIS.
On panting steeds they hurry on,
Kildare, and Darcy's lovely daughter--
On panting steeds they hurry on;
To cross the Barrow's water;
Within her father's dungeon chained,
Kildare her gentle heart had gained;
Now love and she have broke his chain,
And he is free! is free again.
His cloak, by forest boughs is rent,
The long night's toilsome journey showing;
His helm's white plume is wet, and bent,
And backwards o'er his shoulders flowing;
Pale is the lovely lady's cheek,
Her eyes grow dim, her hand is weak;
And, feebly, tries she to sustain,
Her falling horse, with silken rein.
"Now, clasp thy fair arms round my neck,"
Kildare cried to the lovely lady;
"Thy weight black Memnon will not check,
Nor stay his gallop, swift and steady;"
The blush, one moment, dyed her cheek;
The next, her arms are round his neck;
And placed before him on his horse,
They haste, together, on their course.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107