A FOUNT there is, doth overfling Green turf and garden walks; in spring A glory of white blossoming Shines underneath its guardian tree; And new-come birds old music sing; And there, alone and sorrowing, I found a maid I could not cheer,— Of beauty meet to be adored, The daughter of the caste's lord; Methought the melody outpour'd By all the birds unceasingly, The season sweet, the verdant sward, Might gladden her, and eke my word Her grief dismiss, would she but hear. Her tears into the fountain fell; With sorry sighs her heart did swell; "O Jesus, King Invisible!" She cried,—"of thee is my distress! Through thy deep wrong bereft dwell: Earth's blest have bidden us farewell, On thee at thine own shrine to wait. "And my true Love is also gone, The free, fair, gentle, valiant One; So what can I but make my moan, And how the sad desire suppress That Louis' name were here unknown, The prayers, the mandates, all undone Whereby I am made desolate? Soon as I heard this plaintive cry, Moving the limpid wave anigh, "Weep not, fair maid; so piteously, Nor waste thy roses!" thus I cried,— "Neither despair, for He is by Who brought this leafy greenery, And He will give thee joy one day." "Seigneur! I well believe,"she said,— "Of God I shall be comforted In yonder world when I am dead; And many a sinful soul beside;— But now hath He prohibited My chief delight. I bow my head,— But heaven is very far away." |