ANOTHER day -- another day, And yet he comes not nigh; I look amid the dim blue hills, Yet nothing meets mine eye. I hear the rush of mountain-streams Upon the echoes borne; I hear the singing of the birds, -- But not my hunter's horn. The eagle sails in darkness past, The watchful chamois bounds; But what I look for comes not near, -- My ULRIC'S hawk and hounds. Three times I thus have watch'd the snow Grow crimson with the stain The setting sun threw o'er the rock, And I have watch'd in vain. I love to see the graceful bow Across his shoulder slung, -- I love to see the golden horn Beside his baldric hung. I love his dark hounds, and I love His falcon's sweeping flight; I love to see his manly cheek With mountain-colours bright. I've waited patiently, but now Would that the chase were o'er: Well may he love the hunter's toil, But he should love me more. Why stays he thus? -- he would be here If his love equall'd mine; -- Methinks had I one fond caged dove, I would not let it pine. But, hark! what are those ringing steps That up the valley come? I see his hounds, -- I see himself, -- My ULRIC, welcome home! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPIGRAM: 59. ON SPIES by BEN JONSON LUKE HAVERGAL by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 1720 by JONATHAN SWIFT ON THE PROJECTED KENDAL AND WINDERMERE RAILWAY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE WORLD'S WAY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH ON THE RHINE by MATTHEW ARNOLD |