An Old Tune.

There is an air for which I would disown1
Mozart’s, Rossini’s, Weber’s melodies ;2
A sad sweet air that languishes and sighs,3
And keeps its secret charm for me alone.4
Whene’er I hear that music vague and old5
Two hundred years are ‘ mist that rolls away ’—6
The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold7
A green land golden in the dying day,8
An old red castle, strong with stony towers,9
The windows bright with many-coloured glass,10
Wide plains, and streamlets flowing among flowers,11
That wash the castle basement as they pass.12
In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,13
A lady looks forth from her casement high,14
It may be that I knew and found her fair15
In some forgotten life long time gone by.16