Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/190

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186
Rosalind.
"Rose of roses, I love thee more—
More than the tenderest words can say.

"Though I seem but a shepherd lad,
Down from a stately race I came;
In silks and jewels I'll have thee clad,
And Lady of Heron shall be thy name."

Rosalind blushed a rosy red,
Turned as pale as the hawthorn's blow,
Folded her kirtle over her head,
And sped away like a startled doe.

"Rose of roses, come back to me!
Leave me never!" Lord Heron cried,—
"Never!" echoed from hill and lea,
"Never!" the lonely cliffs replied.

Loud he mourned a year and a day,
But Lady Alice was fair to see;
The bright sun blesses his bridal day,
And the castle-bells ring merrily.

Over the moors, like a rolling knell,
Rosalind hears them slowly peal;
Low she mourned—"I loved him well,—
Better I loved his mortal weal.