CANTOFORTH - The Prophecy

I.

"The rose is fairest when tis budding new,

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;

The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,

And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears..."

                           from "Lady of the Lake"

                                 Sir Walter Scott

Still must thy sweet sounds their silence keep,

The wizard note has not been touched in vain.

Fresh vigor with the hope returned,

And all but won that desperate game.

And turned him from the opposing rock,

The eagles answered with their scream.

Was bathed in floods of living fire,

All twinkling with the dewdrop sheen.

Cast anchor in the rifted rock,

What through no rule of courtly grace.

Where gleaming with the setting sun,

Could on the dark-blue mirror trace.

How sweet at eve the lover's lute,

A sainted hermit from his cell.

And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,

One only passion unrevealed.

~Yvonne Renee Moore

*scattered lines from "Lady of the Lake"