 | All-Hallow-Eve |  |
SCENE VII.
The Witches' Cot.Grimald and Nora—To them enter Maldie.
Mal.
Oh, Grimald, Nora, you have ruin'd me,
By your forebodings of mishap and loss!
I ween'd the things that I was doom'd to do
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Headlong to ruin—Should you now refuse
The aid which I am come to ask of you
I am undone, an outcast on the earth!
Oh my good name is lost, and all with that!
Grim.
Your name forsooth!—a trifle—a toy!
I'll give thee succour, I'll give thee joy,
I'll send it thee back by the hand of a boy.
A maid is a bed of the linjet new,
It brairds and bells in the morning dew;
When first to the earth they press it down,
O but it looks sad and woe-begone!
It rises again with a timid air,
And it looks more fresh, and it blooms more fair;
And aye till the blue-bell o'er it flows,
The more it is scathed the lovelier it blows—
Just so is a maid—Thy name's with me,
I'll send it thee back by the youngest of three.
Mal.
But quickly, quickly it must be done,
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My lover has left me in mighty fume,
The priest expels me my comrade's gloom;
Therefore to save this bursting breast,
Bring back my lover and plague the priest.
Oh take him off, for he's our bane,
And keeps us all in fear and pain.
Grim.
'Tis a high thought—dost thou concede?
Mal.
That do I, Grimald, it is my meed.
Grim.
Wilt thou renounce thy baptism?
Mal.
No.
Grim.
And prick thy arm till the red blood flow?
And write thy name as I shall show?
Mal.
Oh! no, no, no!
Grim.
Then go, enjoy thy infamy;
I work for no such chaff as thee!
Mal.
And must I see my lover no more,
And the priest plague me as heretofore?
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Worse—worse—
He'll jug thee perforce—
A thing to laugh at—a thing to curse.
Mal.
Oh! woe is me! I am sunk full low!
Where shall I turn?—What shall I do?—
I'll do whatever you require,
If you will grant my full desire:
Bring back my lover and save my fame,
Take off the priest by wind or flame,
Or by the deed that wants the name.
Grim.
It shall be done.—When the fee is won,
The hour-glass of the sage is run.—
Sister, sister, how is the moon?
Nora.
She's in the wane and changes soon;
If right I guess, to-morrow morn
Up through the muir she'll thrust her horn,
Before the midnight glass has run,
Before the eyeless hour of one.
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That is the time—the hour of prime,
The spirits will trip along the rime,
So light we shall not hear their tread,
Nor note the bend of the frosty blade,
Their shadows shall flit along the green,
Yet the forms that cast them not be seen;
And thy lover shall weep in woes condign,
And burn to join his fate with thine;
And the ghostly dotard shall sleep and quake,
And close the eye that no more shall wake.
Note well the time and come to me,
For all we do must over be
Before the grey cock open his ee—
Ere the hill out of the heaven's breast,
Draw down his cowl of fleecy mist,
That shrowds within its folds of snow
The laverock's home and the den of the roe—
Ere that our spells must all be done,
The cause be lost or the victory won.
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