LIII. IMOGENE OF HEATHERLOW.
Thick snow-flakes falling through the dark
Were muffling pasture-field and park.
The angry sun had slashed the night
With crimson gash, in fell despite.
The stunted poplars by the heath
Glared o'er the waste like wraiths of death.
The spectre elms beneath the snow
Writhed and groaned as if in woe.
The grusome wind went round about,
And shook the doors in dismal rout.
Within the house the children sat:
Bright flames were flapping in the grate.
O, mother sing the song you know,
Of Imogene of Heatherlow:
And we will sing our part between:
‘Fair befall sweet Imogene.’
She took the youngest on her knee,
And sang subdued and mournfully:
Within a castle grey and old
There dwelt an ancient baron bold.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
And with him lived his daughter fair,
With sapphire eyes and golden hair.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
Fierce and passionate was he:
But gentle, good and kind was she.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
She had a lover warm and true;
The squire of Holm, the brave Sir Hugh.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
Her father swore, till she was dead,
With him she never should be wed.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
He pledged her to a foreign lord:
Astolfo famed with lance and sword.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
The brave Sir Hugh for distant lands
Set forth, to fight with paynim bands.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
But she was sad, and day by day,
Like snow in April, fell away.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
One night she dreamt upon her bed
The good Sir Hugh stood by and said:
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
Whene'er thy wedding day shall be,
Be sure that I shall be with thee.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
She rose and took her silk and gold,
And vair and velvet, many a fold.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
Right royally the broidery grew:
No rest her busy needle knew.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
And as she worked she felt no pain:
Her cheeks bloomed into health again.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
One sunny day at matin hour
Astolfo came unto her bower.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
O lady sweet, O lady fair!
What is it you are making there?
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
The lady smiled and raised her head:
I make my wedding robe, she said.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
He came again one day at noon:
What is it makes my lady boon?
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
I make my shoes of silk, she said,
To wear the day that I shall wed.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
He came once more at fall of eve:
What is the garland that you weave?
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
I weave a wreath of blossoms gay
To crown me on my marriage day.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
The morning rose o'er field and bower;
The little birds sang round the tower.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
The drums were beat, the bells were rung;
To praise the bride all found a tongue.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
Astolfo came at break of day,
With knight and squire in brave array.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
Beneath her bower he wound his horn:
Awake! this is our marriage morn.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
He turned and saw her serving maid:
Your lady slumbers long, he said.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
Go tap upon her chamber door,
And bid her hasten from her bower.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
The maid went in: My lady dear,
The bridegroom waits, the priest is here.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
She lay in marriage garments dress'd:
Her hands were crossed upon her breast.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
So sweet a smile upon her face,
It seemed as though she slept a space.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
The maiden went to where she lay:
Her soul from earth had passed away.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
The priest came with his book and read
Some holy prayers beside her bed.
‘Fair fall sweet Imogene.’
But she lay still, and smiled and slept,
Whilst all the people round her wept.
‘For she was beauty's queen.’
