Poems (Hale)/The Minstrel Lover

by Mary Whitwell Hale

THE MINSTREL LOVER.

List to that strain. Its echoes float
 Sweetly upon the listening ear.
List to that strain. Its low-breathed note
 Tells that the minstrel's step is near.

The minstrel! to what fair one's bower,
 Comes he his thrilling notes to raise?
Who, at this lone and silent hour,
 Will listen to his magic lays?

Yet one there is, whose ear has caught
 The faintest murmur of that strain:
One, whose fond, faithful heart has sought
 Long for that low-breathed song, in vain.

No slumber may her eyelids close,
 Now that she hears the minstrel's song.
Her heart with rapture overflows,
 As thoughts most blest its fountains throng.

Softly she seeks the window nigh,
 And gazes on the scene around.
With breath suppressed, her anxious eye
 Seeks whence proceeds that welcome sound.

And not in vain. The moon's pale light
 Shines calmly down on hill and plain;
And now there meets her gazing sight,
 The minstrel of the gentle strain.

Where is the taper's light, which shone
 So lately in the lofty tower?
Its dim and flickering flame is gone,
 And dark is now the lady's bower.

Soon to her casement she returns,
 To watch in speechless rapture there.
Quickly, love's eagle eye discerns
 Whose is that proud and manly air.

The minstrel lover nearer draws:
 And now has ceased his gentle strain.
A prelude now;—now, one short pause,—
 And hark! those thrilling notes again.

Ah! blessed one, that strain who hears,
 As on the air its echoes swell.
For her, no sad, no blighting fears:
 These notes of deep affection tell.

Then, minstrel, pour thy melody,
 And raise thy tuneful numbers high.
The shrinking form thou may'st not see;
 But know her faithful heart is nigh.

To-morrow's sun on thee shall shine,
 And bless thee with its beaming ray.
Her heart's best tribute shall be thine,
 And thine shall be her gentle lay.