Love in cottesmore

Added: Johathan Cuomo - Date: 01.01.2022 11:05 - Views: 10972 - Clicks: 1223

You must be logged in to post a comment. They are only the mystic sands That bound an ocean, where happy lands Lie far across on the other side. What distant memories do they bring. A diamond ring — a glittering thing, And a glove that was worn Love in cottesmore the fair Lizette, The best in the field — I can see her yet. Those were the days when the thrusters met; The days of the good old Hunting song, When the fence was thick, and the ox-rail strong, When some of the men could gallop along, Taking the fences in their Love in cottesmore, Clearing a brook that was ten yards wide, Showing the others the way to ride.

But this was in Eighteen Seventy-Two, When men drank port till all were blue!! I took Suzanne to a Cottesmore Ball. She was dark as a gipsy, lithe and tall; Her eyes like stars! And I still recall The gathering crowd at the ballroom door As she made her debut upon the floor: Seeing her there I know full well That she alone must be the Belle, That I was caught within her spell, And yet, alas! Who could foretell? Those eyes like stars were as false as hell.

Champagne and lights and a shiny floor; Faint as the sound of a far-off shore, Came the soft music of a waltz. She looked me in the eyes and swore To me she never would be false! As we glided out in the moving flow The strains of the waltz were soft and low, Now loud and full as we whirled away On the shiny floor, and faces gay Were bright beneath the chandeliers. Bright jewels shone from lovely ears, And diamonds flashed across the years, From velvet cases drawn again, And worn once more to a different strain Of music as the years go by.

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The happiest moments fly — Suzanne then gave the faintest sigh, As the music ceased and we left the floor; Then more champagne — then by the score, Like moths around a candle-flame, A mob of partners tried to claim Suzanne, already now the Belle, Holding them all in a magic spell, - The Belle surrounded by a crowd, And owing low to her, I vowed Within my soul that I would forget Those eyes like stars; I can see them yet.

Then a soft voice whispering, breathed my name; And I turned and saw a long-lost flame: There was I standing face to face With a true Diana of the Chase. A vision of grace I had loved in vain, - Lizette, who had gone, and was back again; And somewhere now inside my brain Were memories of a distant Ball In a distant place at an ancient hall; - But as we talked she was swept away For another dance, and I had to stay, Lost in the thoughts of yesterday.

Then I looked around and saw Suzanne Glancing out from behind her fan, And blowing kisses through the air To somebody waiting upon the stair! In wrath did I stoop to spy Upon Suzanne and her captured fly, And followed them like a lovesick swain Through other rooms, where the distant strain Of music fell upon the ear; It was fainter now, and now more clear: And seeing her arm in arm with him, The blazing chandeliers grew dim … The spell had gone and my dream of bliss; And when I saw him clasp and kiss; Suzanne, then blushing like a rose, My heart and my soul within me froze.

Then more champagne and one glass more, And I dashed away to the ballroom floor, And there again was the fair Lizette, Standing alone where last we met! Her eyes shone out across the room, And all of a sudden despair and gloom Were gone and now the chance was sent. To her where I saw her stand, And as I took her by the hand The band began the Danube Waltz: - Oblivious then to all the faults Of other dancers on the floor, Lizette entranced me more and more With her perfections, whilst her feet Were keeping time to the steady beat; And so throughout that happy night We gave no other partners right, And one and all did she discard, - Passing them by without regard.

From then the weeks went slowly on, With frost and snow, Lizette was gone. Then came a galloping Cottesmore day; Lizette was there on her favourite bay. Beneath the knitted glove she wore Was a diamond ring, which I never saw Until that day, when side by side We were cantering up the middle Love in cottesmore, And brought our horses to a stand: It sparkled out as she bared her hand. But soon a whimper from a hound Changed all my thoughts — a fox was found!

Away with sorrows of the heart! At what a pace do foxhounds run When pallid rays of a wintry sun Are fading out before a frost. My hopes of catching her were lost! Without a check for half an hour, We galloped along until the tower Of a steepled church upon a hill Love in cottesmore left behind, and, running still, The flying pack drew on ahead Of the thinning hunt, now far outspread, Whilst empty saddles told their tale, And faltering steeds began to fail, And were tailing off a mile behind.

What a sight for a troubled mind, - Lizette was leading all the way, Her good bay Love in cottesmore was bred to stay. The pace was fast, the fences strong, And galloping on amidst the throng, On a tired horse, which he pushed along, Was a famous lovesick millionaire, Who knew that the diamond ring was there! But the pace was breaking the spells of love; To hell with the ring and the knitted glove.

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The fence ahead was strong and tall; Whose turn would it be to take a fall? We never can tell what the fates may yield; And lying there in a Cottesmore field, Where moments since the hounds had flown, Three men were down, with their horses blown; And one of the three, the millionaire, Who knew that the diamond ring was there. And still on the grass, where the chase had sped, His ridden steed lay like the dead.

And those behind gave up the chase; For the fence was strong, as was the pace.

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Their luck was out, their lot was drawn, And the plaintive sounds of the far-off horn, Winding long through the frosty air, Reminded those who had ended there That hounds were on and were running still. The frantic cry of the distant pack, And the sounds of the chase, were echoed back And forth again from hill to wood, From miles away to where they stood. Lizette was up on her horse again; I watched them moving along the lane. The cut of her habit showed the line Of the perfect female form divine, And every line Love in cottesmore her grace … Throughout the run the foremost place Being hers, there scarce was of dirt Or splash of clay on her habit skirt; No mark or speck on the black silk hat, Her hair still smooth in a glossy plait … Here was the girl who made the pace — A true Diana of the Chase!

Which I knew full well was hidden there; And my hopes gave way to dark despair. We had reached the brow of a hill that led To a ford below, and blazing red, Like a ball of fire, and sinking low, The sun was lighting the running flow. As I rode along I watched the gleam Reflected there in the swollen stream, Which slowly faded away until The sun sank down behind the hill. My hopes had flown like the vanished gleam: And then we came to the flooded stream — Where the overflow made a shallow sweep From the midst of the current, fast and deep.

With a ghostly gleam and the faintest flash, It sank in the stream without a splash! A glorious end to a glorious day! Lizette was mine! She had thrown away The diamond ring: and its cursed gleam Was blotted out in the flooded stream. And I thought of the lovesick millionaire Who never would know that his ring lay there, Swept away in the streaming flood Buried forever in the mud!

A long farewell in the fading light, And soon in the dark she was out of sight. Ending one Since then we have ridden side by side; Gone are the days when we used to ride Taking the fences in our stride: And sitting at peace in the firelit hall Watching the flames that rise and fall, Watching the sparks from the blazing logs, Hearing the snores of the sleeping dogs, Our shadows behind us upon the wall, We sit and we dream of the Cottesmore Ball. Alternative ending to the story for readers with realistic minds All that was still, - in the twilit sleep That wrapped the fields in a silence deep; And the frost and gloom came on apace, And farms and woodlands in the space Of all that rolling grassland shire Betwixt me and the furtherest spire That pointed up towards the sky, Were steeped in darkened mystery.

And lights from many a farmhouse shone, And all familiar landmarks gone — Even that lonely distant spire, Which like some hopeless, vain Love in cottesmore Possessed by those who see ahead, Becomes all blotted out and dead. My horse stood still and I sat still As we heard the sound from the further hill, Until once more they died away.

Only a virtuous, loving wife Could make the place a living thing As the lawn outside, where the blackbirds sing. On that lawn is a mighty cedar tree, As old as the family pedigree … On fleeting feet with her dogs at play, A young Lizette — her curls astray — Love in cottesmore flashing across its solemn shade … Alas!

How far had my fancy strayed At distant sound of her trotting horse! When fancies had reached their wildest course The frosty night gave forth the time From a village church, and its distant chime Was striking clear — once, twice, and thrice — And I dreamed of a foolish paradise. But those visions alas!

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Were fleet and false: And the Cottesmore Ball and the Danube Waltz Come back again across the years, With all the love, the hopes and fears; And the lost Lizette, and the famous horse, And the distant trot of its homeward course.

I can hear it fainter and fainter now … I see the form divine — the brow, - Serene beneath the black silk hat, The smooth, bright hair in the smoothest plait ….

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And someone is knocking at the door! And her lovely ghost may come tonight! Leave a Reply Cancel reply You must be logged in to post a comment.

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Love in cottesmore

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