Come tell me some olden story
Of Knight or Paladin,
Whose sword on the field of glory
Bright laurel wreaths did win:
Tell me of the heart of fire
His courage rare did prove;
Speak on — oh! I will not tire —
But never talk of love.
Or, if thou wilt, I shall hearken
Some magic legend rare —
How the Wizard's power did darken
The sunny summer air:
Thou'lt tell of Banshee's midnight wail,
Or corpse-light's ghastly gleam —
It matters not how wild the tale
So love be not thy theme.
Or, perhaps thou may'st have travelled
On distant, foreign strand,
Strange secrets have unravelled
In many a far-off land;
Describe each castle hoary,
Each fair or frowning shore —
But should love blend in thy story
I'll list thy voice no more.
Thou askest with emotion,
Why am I thus so cold,
Urging all thy past devotion,
Well known — well tried of old;
Hush! bend a little nearer
That sad, o'erclouded brow —
Could love vows make thee dearer
To me than thou art now!