The Pleasaunce. Poem by Fidelia S T Hill

Fair Estelle.
* * * * *

Tho' all neglected now, the time hath been
When yon wide pleasaunce was the loveliest scene;
When amid summer time, the sweets of spring
Would all around — abroad their fragrance shed,
And rich laburnum droop its golden head,
Above the starry lilac, clustering;
There silvery poplar its bright leaves would spread
To the wild waving of light Zephyr's wing,
And scented brier, its blushing roses blend
With flowers as fair, which no foul thorns defend.
Now with tall grass, and many a weed o'ergrown
Are its wild walks, sad, unfrequented lone;
Yet still unmindful of the gardener's hand,
In gay luxuriance, garden sweets expand,
The coy geranium, clad in scarlet vest
Lo! on the mossy ground uncultured creeps,
And the bold sun flow'r, rears its shining crest
Where cypress frowns, and the sad willow weeps:
Nay the choice myrtle, doth unheeded flourish
Where no fond lover bends its buds to cherish.
* * * * *
We may paint sorrow, but all terms are weak
The boundless rapture of the breast to speak,
The breaking heart's sad tale few words may tell
But who the o'erflowing tide of joy shall swell,
If one dull word dissolves th' enchanting spell?
Oh! who in sooth may venture to portray
The blessed hours that round the happy play,
Or paint delight with the illumined face
That speaks whole volumes, in a moment's space?
* * * * *
Mark well your warrior, whose resplendent eye
Is darkly kindling into exstacy!
Now are the ebon locks which lately hung
All loose, dishevelled, from his forehead flung,
High on his lip, the proud moustaches wave
The stately Ruthvyn seems scarce altered, save
By the brave badge he bears, ah! noble scar
Life to his Liege, and glory in the war,
Dear to his gentle Countess, tho' it mar
The goodliest visage that e're garnished Knight,
Or age found favour in a lady's sight;
And she is still the same, as lovely fair
As when they parted, sith nor pain, nor care
Hath from her beauteous features chased the smile
Which ever witching with endearing wile,
O'er memory came, the pangs of sorrow soothed
Yea even the rugged path of absence smoothed;
But now her blue eye tells a summer tale
While the pure bliss, which in that eye doth speak
Hath lent its peerless lustre to her cheek
And the loved Estelle is no longer pale!
Before them in the blaze of fervid noon,
Frolics their beauteous boy the flow'rs among
And carols blithely, but o'erpower'd full soon
Listless he casts himself the turf along:
Posies he gathers, and for pastime he
Streaked tulips, and fair daffodils doth bring
Laughing he flies, and on the lady's knee
See him with dimpled hand, the treasures fling
And now like conqueror, freed from martial toil
Breathless he triumphs o'er beheaded spoil.
Then shakes hls curls, and hides his glowing face
Beneath the shelter of her vestment's folds
Now conscious stealing peers from hiding place
Afraid, yet fain, as he his sire beholds; —
Even thus with Venus, roving Cupid plays
Light as the leaf that dances on the spray
Awhile with infant wonder he doth gaze,
Then down green slope, he wings his wanton way,
For from such sport he can no more refrain
And like wild hart, is bounding off again.