Classic Poem

Under the lee of the Bowden steeps,
By the willowy banks of Avon,
In sunlit meadows the Abbey sleeps;
And the elm trees' lengthening shadows fall
On mullioned window and ivied wall,
And lawns like a churchman shaven.

Sleeps the Foundress under the stone,
Where she ruled — " COMITISSA SARVM,
ABBATISSA, " — in years agone;
And the rhyming monkish hexameters
Dwell on the graces that once were hers, —
" VIRTVTVM PLENA BONARVM "

Centuries three had she lain at rest
'Neath the stone where her name is graven;
The nuns were scattered to east and west,
For tower and cloister and banqueting-hall,
Stern Sir Harry he held them all,
And the meadows by winding Avon.

And youth was astir, and love was awake,
Where the saintly dead lay sleeping;
All for the Lady Olive's sake,
Lady Olive so daintily fair,
With her sea-blue eyes, and her tangled hair,
Like corn that is ripe for the reaping.

Young John Talbot he loved her well,
Lover was never a truer:
But a lover's tale he scarce might tell,
For when lands are lost, and gold has been spent,
Though his blood be the best between Thames and Trent,
What father will welcome a wooer?

Long she lingered, that night in June,
On the high-set battlement leaning,
Pale in the light of the rising moon:
And she sighed to her gallant far below,
As Juliet sighed to her Romeo,
A message of tenderest meaning.

" See, " she murmured, " the moon is high,
Her path is on Avon river;
It were sweet, O my love, by her light to fly,
Through brook and coppice, o'er meadow and down,
Away to the gates of London town, —
Two hearts to be one for ever! "

And she gazed to the depth, and she did not shrink,
Though she heard her heart-beats quicken,
And she leapt from the high-set battlement's brink,
Wafted down on the wings of love,
As drops from the nest a silvery dove
To her mate that the falcon has stricken.

Young John Talbot was stout of arm,
Courage and heart unshaken;
He clasped her and held her safe from harm,
But he slipped and fell on the pitiless stone,
Lay at her feet with never a groan,
In a slumber no kiss could awaken.

Clear rang out Lady Olive's call,
Startled the bloodhound sleeping:
Lights came flashing in chamber and hall, —
Roused Sir Harry and all his men, —
Stern Sir Harry grown gentle then,
At sight of his darling a-weeping.

'Twas an hour ere the gallant could open his eyes
On his love so faithful and daring, —
Read in hers that he'd won his prize:
Swore Sir Harry, — " The maiden's leap
Has earned her for you, to take and to keep, —
She's a favour that's worth the wearing! "

Such is the legend of days gone by, —
Worthy a worthier poet:
But well-a-day! and a man may sigh,
Sigh for the days of brave Queen Bess,
When a lady's " Yes " was verily yes,
And she'd peril her neck to show it!