Classic Poem

The fair boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
It was his duty evermore
To tend the Lady Imogen;
By peep of day he might be seen
Tapping against her chamber door,
To wake the sleepy waiting-maid;
Who rose, and when she had arrayed
The Princess, and the twain had prayed
(With pearle'd rosaries used of yore),
They called him, pacing to and fro;
And cap in hand, and bowing low,
He entered, and began to feed
The singing birds with fruit and seed.

The brave boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
He tripped along the kingly hall,
From room to room, with messages;
He stopped the butler, clutched his keys,
(Albeit he was broad and tall,)
And dragged him down the vaults, where wine
In bins lay beaded and divine,
To pick a flask of vintage fine;
Came up, and clomb the garden wall,
And plucked from out the sunny spots
Peaches, and luscious apricots,
And filled his golden salver there,
And hurried to his Lady fair.

The gallant Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
He had a steed from Arab ground,
And when the lords and ladies gay
Went hawking in the dews of May,
And hunting in the country round,
And Imogen did join the band,
He rode him like a hunter grand,
A hooded hawk upon his hand,
And by his side a slender hound:
But when they saw the deer go by
He slipped the leash, and let him fly,
And gave his fiery barb the rein,
And scoured beside her o'er the plain.

The strange boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
Sometimes he used to stand for hours
Within her room, behind her chair;
The soft wind blew his golden hair
Across his eyes, and bees from flowers
Hummed round him, but he did not stir:
He fixed his earnest eyes on her,
A pure and reverent worshipper,
A dreamer building airy towers:
But when she spoke he gave a start,
That sent the warm blood from his heart,
To flush his cheeks, and every word
The fountain of his feelings stirred.

The sad boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
He lost all relish and delight,
For all things that did please before;
By day he wished the day was o'er,
By night he wished the same of night:
He could not mingle in the crowd,
He loved to be alone, and shroud
His tender thoughts, and sigh aloud,
And cherish in his heart its blight.
At last his health began to fail,
His fresh and glowing cheeks to pale;
And in his eyes the tears unshed
Did hang like dew in violets dead.

The timid Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
" What ails the boy? " said Imogen:
He stammered, sighed, and answered " Naught. "
She shook her head, and then she thought
What all his malady could mean;
It might be love; her maid was fair,
And Leon had a loving air;
She watched them with a jealous care,
And played the spy, but naught was seen:
And then she was aware at first,
That she, not knowing it, had nursed
His memory till it grew a part, —
A heart within her very heart!

The dear boy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
She loved, but owned it not as yet;
When he was absent she was lone,
She felt a void before unknown,
And Leon filled it when they met;
She called him twenty times a day,
She knew not why, she could not say;
She fretted when he went away,
And lived in sorrow and regret;
Sometimes she frowned with stately mien,
And chid him like a little queen;
And then she soothed him meek and mild,
And grew as trustful as a child.

The neat scribe Leonatus,
The page of Imogen.
She wondered that he did not speak,
And own his love, if love indeed
It was that made his spirit bleed;
And she bethought her of a freak
To test the lad; she bade him write
A letter that a maiden might,
A billet to her heart's delight;
He took the pen with fingers weak,
Unknowing what he did, and wrote,
And folded up, and sealed the note:
She wrote the superscription sage,
" For Leonatus, Lady's Page! "

The happy Leonatus,
The page of Imogen;
The page of Imogen no more,
But now her love, her lord, her life,
For she became his wedded wife,
As both had hoped and dreamed before.
He used to sit beside her feet,
And read romances rare and sweet,
And, when she touched her lute, repeat
Impassioned madrigals of yore,
Uplooking in her face the while,
Until she stooped with loving smile,
And pressed her melting mouth to his,
That answered in a dreamy bliss, —
The joyful Leonatus,
The Lord of Imogen!