Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1823.pdf/19

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Literary Gazette, 15th February 1823, Page 107


Another day—another day,
    And yet he comes not nigh;
I look amid the dim blue hills,
    Yet nothing meets mine eye.

I hear the rush of mountain-streams
    Upon the echoes borne;
I hear the singing of the birds,
    But not my hunter's horn.

The eagle sails in darkness past,
    The watchful chamois bounds;
But what I look for comes not near,—
    My Ulric's hawk and hounds.

Three times I thus have watched the snow
    Grow crimson with the stain
The setting sun threw o'er the rock,
    And I have watched in vain.

I love to see the graceful bow
    Across his shoulder slung,—
I love to see the golden horn
    Beside his baldric hung.

I love his dark hounds, and I love
    His falcon's sweeping flight;
I love to see his manly cheek
    With mountain-colours bright.

I've waited patiently, but now
    Would that the chase were o'er;
Well may he love the hunter's toil,
    But he should love me more.

Why stays he thus?—he would be here
    If his love equalled mine;
Methinks had I one fond caged dove
    I would not let it pine.

But, hark! what are those ringing steps
    That up the valley come?
I see his hounds,—I see himself,—
    My Ulric, welcome home![2]

  1. Appears later in The Improvisatrice and Other Poems
  2. Signature after third ballad