Conclusion -

Thus sang the shepherd crowned at noon,
And every breast was heaved with sighs; —
Attracted by the tree and tune,
The winged singers left the skies.

Close to the minstrel sat the maid;
His song had drawn her fondly near:
Her large and dewy eyes betrayed
The secret to her bosom dear.

The factory people through the fields,
Pale men and maids and children pale,
Listened, forgetful of the wheels,
Till the loud summons woke the vale.

And all the mowers rising said,

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 15

Proud Leon sits beside his bride,
His chariot manned by Nubian grooms, —
His lady rustling in the pride
Of stuffs of foreign looms.

Secure, important, and serene,
The master of a wide domain,
He looks abroad with lordly mien, —
This once poor shepherd swain.

You scarce would think to see him now,
In all his grandeur puffed and full,
He e'er had guided flock or plough
In simple, homespun wool.

The chain of gold is still a chain; —
There may be moments he would pay

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 14

" Forsworn! " The fields all sighed, " forsworn! "
When Sylvia pined into her shroud;
And all the pastures lay forlorn,
O'ershadowed with a cloud.

The homesteads wept with childish sob,
" Forsworn! " and every wheel was dumb;
The looms were muffled, each low throb
Was like a funeral drum.

The maidens hid in Maytime grots,
Their distaffs twined with blossoms sweet,
With pansies and forget-me-nots.
And laid them at her feet.

" Forsworn! " they sighed, and sprinkled o'er

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 13

" And never more your ringing team
Made music in our happy dale;
Instead, an earthquake winged with steam
Roared through our sundered vale.

" And where yon river seaward runs,
The white-winged barges ceased to roam;
Instead, came great leviathans
Trampling the waves to foam.

" And there was rushing to and fro,
As if the nation suddenly
Made haste to meet some foreign foe
Impending on the sea.

" And all this horrid roar and rage —
The clash of steel and flash of ire

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 12

" You grew to her more fond and near,
And mine no more! Ah, never more
You brought the antlered forest deer
And laid it at my door.

" And ever round the hall and hearth,
These branching emblems of the chase
Mocked me with memory of the mirth
Which once made bright the place.

" No more 'neath autumn's sun or cloud
You paid to me the pleasing tax
Of labour at the swingle loud,
Breaking the brittle flax.

" No more when winter walked our clime
We woke the evening-lighted room,

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 11

" I know such dreams are empty, vain:
And yet may rest upon the heart,
Like chillness of a summer rain
After the clouds depart.

" And still the dream went on: — each hour
Some new-born wonder filled the dream: —
First came the labourers to o'erpower
And chain our little stream.

" A giant prison-wall they made; —
Our brook, recoiling in her fears,
Over our meadows wildly strayed,
And drowned them with her tears.

" And then they reared a stately home, —

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 10

X.

" I bore you in; with my own hand
I tended you long nights and days;
And heard with pride how all the land
Was ringing with your praise.

" But when your deepest wounds were well, —
This, Leon, is the saddest part, —
A lady came with witching spell,
And claimed you, hand and heart.

" She came in all her southern pride;

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 9

IX

" And then I heard your neighing train, —
Its silver bells rang down the breeze, —
And saw the white arch of your wain
Between the roadside trees.

" Announced as by an ocean storm,
A horseman from the east in ire
Rode to retrieve his hound: his form
Was robed in scarlet fire.

" But when you saw our murdered field —

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 8

VII

" First of the mournful sights, I saw
Our flocks fly bleating from a hound,
And many a one his savage jaw
Dragged bleeding to the ground.

" The rest sought shelter in despair,
And in a brake were robbed and torn;
The cruel hound had an ally there
In every brier and thorn.

" In nightmare chains my feet were set,

Sylvia; or, The Last Shepherd - Part 7

VII.

Out of her tent, as one afraid,
The moon along the purple field
Stole like an oriental maid,
Her beauty half concealed.

And, peering with her vestal torch
Between the vines at Sylvia's door,
She saw two shadows in the porch
Pass and repass the floor.

On the far hill the dreary hound

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