The Maid of Neidpath
O LOVERS’ eyes are sharp to see,And lovers’ ears in hearing;And love, in life’s extremity,Can lend an hour of cheering.Disease had been in Mary’s bowerAnd slow decay from mourning,Though now she sits on Neidpath’s towerTo watch her love’s returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,Her form decayed by pining,Till through her wasted hand, at night,You saw the taper shining.By fits a sultry hectic hueAcross her cheek was flying;By fits so ashy pale she grewHer maidens thought her dying.
Yet keenest powers to see and hearSeemed in her frame residing;Before the watch-dog pricked his earShe heard her lover’s riding;Ere scarce a distant form was kennedShe knew and waved to greet him,And o’er the battlement did bendAs on the wing to meet him.
He came—he passed—an heedless gazeAs o’er some stranger glancing;Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,Lost in his courser’s prancing—The castle-arch, whose hollow toneReturns each whisper spoken,Could scarcely catch the feeble moanWhich told her heart was broken.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 1772–1834