Nay! tell us not of curtained walls!
To us they were a prison;
Better than all your stately halls,
Is the heath where the blessed sunlight falls,
And the free wind blows, and the plover calls
When the mellow moon has risen.
And the sod, for us, is a nobler bed,
Than the couch with richest damask spread,
For ours are the stars and the mystic ties
That link the earth to the rolling skies.
Do you see that girl with the glance of fire?
Woe to the man that dares her ire!
She knows what planet has power to harm;
What beam of the moon will fall as balm;
And the hour when the stormy Pleiades rise,
And the star of love gives bliss for sighs;
And over your palm, with secret lore,
She 'll read what the dark years have in store.
Keep your wealth and your gilded bowers!
The glory of field and sky is ours;
And all the spirits of earth and air
Follow our bidding, foul or fair.