THE lady she sate in her bower alone,
And she gaz’d from the lattice window high,
Where a white steed’s hoofs were ringing on,
With a beating heart, and a smother’d sigh.
Why doth she gaze thro’ the sunset rays–
Why doth she watch that white steed’s track–
While a quivering smile on her red lip plays?
‘Tis her own dear knight–will he not look back?
The steed flew fast–and the rider past–
Nor paus’d he to gaze at the lady’s bower;
The smile from her lip is gone at last–
There are tears on her cheek–like the dew on a flower!
And ‘plague on these foolish tears,’ she said,
‘Which have dimm’d the view of my young love’s track;
For oh! I am sure, while I bent my head,
It was then–it was then that my knight look’d back.’
On flew that steed with an arrow’s speed;
He is gone–and the green boughs wave between:
And she sighs, as the sweet breeze sighs through a reed,
As she watches the spot where he last has been.
Oh! many a sun shall rise and set,
And many an hour may she watch in vain,
And many a tear shall that soft cheek wet,
Ere that steed and its rider return again!