Said Hubert, "It is sad to see
Such gallant knight o'erthrown,
And sadder still for him to be
Neglected thus and lone.
Forbidden, by the surgeon's care,
The steep to mount—the chase to share.
I have contrived a fashion, wife,
To lead our guest a livelier life.
From our day's sports, essay to find
Good reasons, thou, to stay behind,
For such when wanted woman's mind?
Remain at home—and not to be
Companionless—the fair Marie
Request to keep thee company.
Then choose the scene—and choose the hour,
Which sways young hearts with deepest power.
And lead, ha! ha! the simple pair,
Where coolest breathes the balmiest air,
With song of birds where forests ring,
And limpid streams run murmuring—
Where fountains fall and branches wave,
And women sigh, and poets rave,
And, by my life! ere heal this wound,
We'll show another more profound.
And thus, while, at the dawn, abroad,
Through fragrant vale, by dewy road,
Swept on the distant hunting train,
Or roved the rest o'er hill and plain,
Ulric, a pensive prisoner, strayed
Within the park's voluptuous shade;
And with such guards as greet the sight,
Not often, of the captive knight.
Nor many days of pleasure haste,
Ere all the pain and danger past.
But still his fair companions chide,
Nor trust the wanderer from their side,
But ramble with him, far and wide.
Now on the green hill's graceful swell,
Now through the laughing, tangled dell,
Then in the tall oak-grove they rest,
That waves above the river's breast,
Peaceful us mansions of the blest,
Where noonday breezes gently blow,
And the plain sparkles far below.
There oft they took
Some chosen book,
To while the hours away;
Ballad or tale,
Or pastorale,
Or tender roundelay.
Of reading on,
With mellow tone,
Did Ulric never tire,
Till in the West,
The sun did rest
His mighty orb of fire.
And smiled each mountain’s glowing height,
The earth all peace, the heaven all light.
And not in Eden's earliest bow'rs,
More lovely fell night's rapturous hours,
Than in the Rhineland's witching clime,
When glows the northern summer's prime,
That is nature's sweetest time,
Scarcely the sun doth ever set,
But lingers in the heaven yet,
Playing his colors warm and bright,
One delicious, soft twilight,
In the radiant sky all night,
Till evening's splendor melts away
Tn the silvery break of another day.
Mingling, perchance, her charming ray
Lifts, slow and silent, o'er the scene,
Her broad, calm disk, night's lovely queen,—
And then would Ulric stand to trace
The beauty of her pensive face;
And read the wonders, half unfurled
To fancy, in that outspread world—
"Do cities dot its shining side?
Do armies meet—do navies ride?
The navigator, doth he stray
On some remote and unknown way?
Do nations seek, with patient toil,
The riches of that distant soil,
And wave, upon its sunny plain,
The scented hay, and bending grain?
Do oceans wash, with stormy roar,
Huge rock-bound coasts and islands o'er—
Europe and Asia vast, and Africa's burning shore?
Or rolls an awful desert on—
Airless and waveless—hushed and lone—
No foot its arid wastes to tread—
No murmuring stream—no grateful shade?"
So flowed the time, with wondrous fleetness,
Unshadowed light, unbroken sweetness.
Ulric asked not how or why,
So fleet, so sweet it floated by;
And Emiline, with guileless art,
Graceful played her matron's part.
And when the wound was healed,
Well she marked that Marie's check
More than maiden's tongue might speak,
Her artless thought revealed.
But yet—though Ulric, at their side,
Ever lingered near,
Alone, from morn till eventide,
Through wood, o'er mount, their steps to guide,
Yet—yet—no tale did he confide
Of love—to Marie's ear.