# The Golden Violet with its Tales of Romance and Chivalry and Other Poems/The Haunted Lake

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Sunny and blue was the minstrel's eye, Like the lake when noontide is passing by; And his hair fell down in its golden rings, As bright and as soft as his own harp-strings,
Yet with somewhat wild upon lip and cheek, As forth the enthusiast spirit would break To wander at times through earth and air, And feed upon all the wonders there. A changeful prelude his light notes rung, As remembering all they had ever sung: Now the deep numbers rolled along, Like the fiery sweep of a battle song; Now sad, yet bold, as those numbers gave Their last farewell to the victor's grave; Then was it soft and low, as it brought The depths of the maiden's lovelorn thought:— Harp of Erin! hath song a tone Not to thy gifted numbers known?— But the latest touch was light and calm, As the voice of a hymn, the night-falling balm;
Holy and sweet, as its music were given Less from a vision of earth than of heaven.
THE HAUNTED LAKE:
THE IRISH MINSTREL’S LEGEND.
Rose up the young moon; back she flung The veil of clouds that o'er her hung: Thus would fair maiden fling aside Her bright curls in her golden pride; On pass'd she through the sky of blue, Lovelier as she pass'd it grew; At last her gentle smiles awake The silence of the azure lake. Lighted to silver, waves arise, As conscious of her radiant eyes.
Hark! floats around it music's tone, Sweeter than mortal ear hath known: Such, when the sighing night-wind grieves Amid the rose's ruby leaves, Conscious the nightingale is nigh,  That too soon his reluctant wing Must rival song and rival sigh  To his own fair flower bring; Such as the lute, touch'd by no hand  Save by an angel's, wakes and weeps, Such is the sound that now to land  From the charmed water sweeps. Around the snowy foam-wreaths break, The spirit band are on the lake. First, a gay train form'd of the hues Of morning skies and morning dews;
A saffron-light around them play'd, As eve's last cloud with them delay'd; Such tints, when gazing from afar, The dazed eye sees in midnight star. They scatter'd flowers, and the stream  Grew like a garden, each small billow Shining with the crimson gleam  The young rose flung upon its pillow; And from their hands, and from their hair, Blossoms and odours fill'd the air; And some of them bore wreathed shells, Blush-dyed, from their coral cells, Whence the gale at twilight brought The earliest lesson music caught: And gave they now the sweetest tone, That unto sea-born lyre was known;
For they were echoes to the song  That from spirit lips was fleeting, And the wind bears no charm along  Such as the shell and voices meeting. On pass'd they to the lulling tune, Meet pageant for the lady moon. A louder sweep the music gave: The chieftain of the charmed wave, Graceful upon his steed of snow, Rises from his blue halls below; And rode he like a victor knight Thrice glorious in his arms of light. But, oh! the look his features bear Was not what living warriors wear; The glory of his piercing eye Was not that of mortality;
Earth's cares may not such calm allow, Man's toil is written on his brow: But here the face was passionless, The holy peace of happiness, With that grave pity spirits feel In watching over human weal; An awful beauty round him shone But for the good to look upon. Close by his side a maiden rode, Like spray her white robe round her flow'd; No rainbow hues about her clung, Such as the other maidens flung; And her hair hath no summer crown, But its long tresses floating down Are like a veil of gold which cast A sunshine to each wave that past.
She was not like the rest: her cheek  Was pale and pure as moonlight snows; Her lip had only the faint streak  The bee loves in the early rose; And her dark eye had not the blue  The others had clear, wild, and bright; But floating starry, as it drew  Its likeness from the radiant night And more she drew my raised eye Than the bright shadows passing by; A meeker air, a gentler smile, A timid tenderness the while, Held sympathy of heart, and told The lady was of earthly mould. Blush'd the first blush of coming day, Faded the fairy band away.
They pass'd and only left behind A lingering fragrance on the wind, And on the lake, their haunted home, One long white wreath of silver foam. Heard I in each surrounding vale What was that mortal maiden's tale: Last of her race, a lonely flower, She dwelt within their ruin'd tower. Orphan without one link to bind Nature's affection to her kind; She grew up a neglected child, As pure, as beautiful, as wild As the field flowers which were for years Her only comrades and compeers. Time pass'd, and she, to woman grown, Still, like a wood bird, dwelt alone.
Save that, beside a peasant's hearth, Tales of the race which gave her birth Would sometimes win the maiden's ear; And once, in a worst hour of fear, When the red fever raged around, Her place beside the couch was found Of sickness, and her patient care, And soothing look, and holy prayer, And skill in herbs, had power sublime Upon the sufferer's weary time: But, saving these, her winter day Was pass'd within the ruins grey; And ever summer noons were spent  Beside the charmed lake, and there Her voice its silver sweetness sent  To mingle with the air.
Thus time pass'd on. At length, one day Beside her favourite haunt she lay, When rush'd some band who wish'd to make Her prisoner for her beauty's sake.
She saw them ere they gain'd her seat,  Ah! safety may she gain? Though mountain deer be not more fleet,  Yet here flight is in vain. The lake—oh, it is there to save! She plunges—is it to a grave? Moons waned; again is come the night When sprites are free for earthly sight. They see the mortal maiden ride In honour by the chieftain's side, So beautiful, so free from sin, Worthy was she such boon to win:
The spirit race that floated round Were not more pure, more stainless found; Her utmost loveliness and grace Were sole signs of her human race; Happy, thus freed from earthly thrall, She skims the lake, fairest of all.