Muriel of the Tower

"Love, the days are lone and long!
Love, the nights are long and lone!"
Thus in sob, and thus in song,
Muriel made her moan.

At her feet low crouched a hound
Lifting great eyes piteously,
And an ever eerie sound
Surged up from the sea.

Inland all the gorse was gold;
Inland hawthorn boughs were gay;
There was umber on the wold
When he rode away.

It was umber everywhere
At the tide of Candlemas,
Though 'twas Pentecostal air
But to see him pass.

"Mistress, in your arrased bower
There are dainties, there is wine!"
Nay — she tarried in the tower,
Sunshine or moonshine.

In the donjon tower she sate,
And the warder on the wall
Felt her presence like a fate.
Watching over all.

And the lilies in the moat,
Sooth, they were not lovelier
Than the rondure of her throat
And the brow of her!

Curlews flew against the sky
With their graceful winnowing,
Yet her never-closèd eye
Caught no glint of wing.

"Mistress, you are weary; — rest!"
Plead her maids at even-glow;
Still she hung upon the crest
Where his spears would show, —

Saying, "Take it not amiss
That I guard 'gainst war's alarms."
But she thought her of his kiss,
And his sheltering arms.

Came an eve with amber hung,
Fold upon resplendent fold,
When a sudden pennon flung
Rose against the gold.

And a trumpet's fall and swell
Pierced the castle's deepest ward,
Then the heart of Muriel
Was a smitten chord.

While the sea its ardors rang,
"Clang!" ope swung the castle keep,
And the patient hound upsprang
Clamorous out of sleep.

"Love, the days are lone and long;
Love, the nights are long and lone!"
Thus no more in sob and song
Muriel made her moan.

Nay, the hours all held their spell;
Some fresh charm filled every hour,
For the lady Muriel, —
Muriel of the tower.