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Updated: April 30, 2025
It would have seemed as foolish to expect dignified reserve or womanly gravity from this amber-haired siren, as to wish for rich basses amid the clear treble of a sky-lark's song. She sat with her pale face turned away from the firelight, and with her hands locked together upon the arm of her husband's easy-chair. They were very restless, these slender white hands.
Not in thy free range Of woods and wilds alone, thou blendest thus The dirge note and the song of festival; But in one heart, one changeful human heart, Ay, and within one hour of that strange world, Thou call'st their music forth, with all its tones To startle and to pierce! the dying Swan's, And the glad Sky-lark's, Triumph and Despair!"
The sun shall shine with tempered ray, The moonbeam soft, yet bright; O, come! Joy beckons us away, To revel in delight!" "Good!" exclaimed the Knight. "Thy voice is as sweet as a sky-lark's, and runs with marvellous cunning through the harmonious changes of the tune. Why, never preface thy song again with an apology, or I shall begin to doubt thy sincerity."
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