Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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Lady Mabel's Lovers.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
Lady Mabel's Lovers.
I.
Mount Pleasant's wide-spread terraces were radiant in the sun,
The flowers their dewdrop coronets were wearing, every one,
Uncrowned, yet with a royal train, did Lady Mabel pace,
The gentle morning sunshine shone softly on her face.
The flowers their dewdrop coronets were wearing, every one,
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The gentle morning sunshine shone softly on her face.
Fair and stately rose Mount Pleasant (by a Tudor king 't was reared),
There the Dacres once held revel, each one loved and each one feared;
O'er the woods, by Autumn gilded, gazed the royal turrets down,
To the friendly with a greeting, to the foeman with a frown.
There the Dacres once held revel, each one loved and each one feared;
O'er the woods, by Autumn gilded, gazed the royal turrets down,
To the friendly with a greeting, to the foeman with a frown.
There were gables rose-encumbered, cross-paned windows ribbed with stone,
Scutcheoned doors, embrasured niches, chimneys to the swallows known,
Gilded weathercocks that circled restlessly to every wind,
Fickle as a lady's favour, changeful as a woman's mind.
Scutcheoned doors, embrasured niches, chimneys to the swallows known,
Gilded weathercocks that circled restlessly to every wind,
Fickle as a lady's favour, changeful as a woman's mind.
The sunny porch bore “1500,” carved in letters long and quaint;
The chapel had its western windows guarded by full many a saint;
Past the gatehouse spread the gardens, girt by marble statues round,
Where the yew-tree's sable hedges by rich belts of flowers were bound.
The chapel had its western windows guarded by full many a saint;
Past the gatehouse spread the gardens, girt by marble statues round,
Where the yew-tree's sable hedges by rich belts of flowers were bound.
Farther still, the great deer forest reared its emerald walls on high,
Beneath the calm broad river wandered, sapphire blue as summer sky;
In the distance, past the ploughmen, mill and smithy, park and stile,
Crept the high road, white and glaring, winding on mile after mile.
Beneath the calm broad river wandered, sapphire blue as summer sky;
In the distance, past the ploughmen, mill and smithy, park and stile,
Crept the high road, white and glaring, winding on mile after mile.
II.
Half a dozen silken suitors followed pretty Lady Mabel,
Smirking, simpering, bowing, prating, past each oriel and gable,
Waving plumes and fluttering satins—one alone, now three, then two,
They paced the lozenge-paven terrace, by the close-clipped walls of yew.
Smirking, simpering, bowing, prating, past each oriel and gable,
Waving plumes and fluttering satins—one alone, now three, then two,
They paced the lozenge-paven terrace, by the close-clipped walls of yew.
Young Sir Roger Wildrake Fenton, rich in fallow, moor, and fen;
Old Sir Francis, proud and stately, with his well filled park and pen;
Then the Welsh knight, Griffith Wynkin, rather curved about the leg,
Bragging coarsely of his stables, and his brown mare, “Little Meg.”
Old Sir Francis, proud and stately, with his well filled park and pen;
Then the Welsh knight, Griffith Wynkin, rather curved about the leg,
Bragging coarsely of his stables, and his brown mare, “Little Meg.”
Next to them Sir Brian Bulstrode, fiery red about the face;
Then that lawyer, Master Vellums, proud of money, not of race;
Last of all that noisy fopling, Marmaduke Macgillivray,
Talking nonsense, or loud ranting lines from Shirley's latest play.
Then that lawyer, Master Vellums, proud of money, not of race;
Last of all that noisy fopling, Marmaduke Macgillivray,
Talking nonsense, or loud ranting lines from Shirley's latest play.
One was fixing firm his feather, with a shrill uneasy laugh;
One his scented glove was pulling, or was tying up his scarf;
One was stooping, gay adjusting fluttering ribbons at his knee,
Or was merry, disentangling chains and badges two or three.
One his scented glove was pulling, or was tying up his scarf;
One was stooping, gay adjusting fluttering ribbons at his knee,
Or was merry, disentangling chains and badges two or three.
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One proposed more cups of clary; one cried out to “boot and horse;”
The lawyer he was recommending “no eviction, if by force;”
The fop was picking clove carnations for the Lady Mabel's hair,
Vowing by “Sir Phœbus' chariot” that she was “excelling fair.”
The lawyer he was recommending “no eviction, if by force;”
The fop was picking clove carnations for the Lady Mabel's hair,
Vowing by “Sir Phœbus' chariot” that she was “excelling fair.”
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Far behind them, lone and musing, sober-garbed and very sad,
Paced a poet-student, sunken-cheeked and thin: the lad
By his mistress was unnoticed, by the pages held at scorn:
He stood upon that terrace-walk the unhappiest creature born.
Paced a poet-student, sunken-cheeked and thin: the lad
By his mistress was unnoticed, by the pages held at scorn:
He stood upon that terrace-walk the unhappiest creature born.
Careless the lady paced, her train borne up by twice three pages;
The falcon on her little wrist fretted in pretty wanton rages.
One cord of pearls alone she wore, twisted around her hair;
Whene'er she moved a breath of Spring filled all the amorous air.
The falcon on her little wrist fretted in pretty wanton rages.
One cord of pearls alone she wore, twisted around her hair;
Whene'er she moved a breath of Spring filled all the amorous air.
Vain the sighs of “Queen and Goddess,” “Dian chaste,” as “Dian cold,”
Mabel walked in silent anger past the beds of flowering gold;
Not a look she gave of greeting to that base, unworthy crew,
Swirling round her train of satin o'er the soft grass bloomed with dew.
Mabel walked in silent anger past the beds of flowering gold;
Not a look she gave of greeting to that base, unworthy crew,
Swirling round her train of satin o'er the soft grass bloomed with dew.
III.
Suddenly beside a fountain on her lovers Mabel turned,
A maiden blush was on her cheek, her eyes with anger burned.
“Villain suitors!” cried the lady, “eating up my poor estate;
I, Penelope unguarded, still for a deliverer wait.
A maiden blush was on her cheek, her eyes with anger burned.
“Villain suitors!” cried the lady, “eating up my poor estate;
I, Penelope unguarded, still for a deliverer wait.
“Is there no one really loves me? none to free me from these knaves?
From their insolence release me—none to chase away these slaves?—
Smell-feasts, who with churlish clamour, seek my poor defenceless hand,
Only that they may the sooner gnaw into my gold and land!”
From their insolence release me—none to chase away these slaves?—
Smell-feasts, who with churlish clamour, seek my poor defenceless hand,
Only that they may the sooner gnaw into my gold and land!”
Silent stood that flock of suitors, not one sought to lead the rest;
But each one, sullen, flung his cloak athwart his craven breast.
Then stepped the gentle student-boy before those recreant men,
And drew his sword, and cried aloud, “Back each one to his den!”
But each one, sullen, flung his cloak athwart his craven breast.
Then stepped the gentle student-boy before those recreant men,
And drew his sword, and cried aloud, “Back each one to his den!”
Then every face grew black to hear that bitterness of speech,
From every gilded sheath flashed out the angry sword of each:
“Let's whip this bookworm, poor and hungry, to his scurvy garret lair,
To read his Ovid's wanton songs, and pine and scribble there.”
From every gilded sheath flashed out the angry sword of each:
“Let's whip this bookworm, poor and hungry, to his scurvy garret lair,
To read his Ovid's wanton songs, and pine and scribble there.”
Then as a traveller would turn to brush the gnats away,
The lover strode, his eyes flashed red, as royal stag at bay;
He would not use his sword for fear to fright the lady fair,
But leapt and seized the foremost man, his strong hand in his hair.
The lover strode, his eyes flashed red, as royal stag at bay;
He would not use his sword for fear to fright the lady fair,
But leapt and seized the foremost man, his strong hand in his hair.
He wrapped his cloak around his arm, he smote among their swords,
Striking hard and sturdy buffets on the mouths of those proud lords;
Snapping blades and tearing mantles, like a lion at his meal,
Laughing at the stab of dagger and the flashing of their steel.
Striking hard and sturdy buffets on the mouths of those proud lords;
Snapping blades and tearing mantles, like a lion at his meal,
Laughing at the stab of dagger and the flashing of their steel.
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From one he tore his feathered hat, from one he rent his cloak,
Though blood ran out and daubed his face, still fell his angry stroke.
A wild bull goring could not drive with more impetuous horn
Than he, the stripling so despised, when he arose in scorn.
Though blood ran out and daubed his face, still fell his angry stroke.
A wild bull goring could not drive with more impetuous horn
Than he, the stripling so despised, when he arose in scorn.
They fled, the cowards, every one,—with gems the walks were strown:
Here lay a brooch of Indian pearl, and there an emerald stone;
They threw their swords away and fled, each pale as parted corse,
They did not stay to rest or eat, but took at once to horse.
Here lay a brooch of Indian pearl, and there an emerald stone;
They threw their swords away and fled, each pale as parted corse,
They did not stay to rest or eat, but took at once to horse.
A moment pale and motionless the poet stood—nor spoke—
Looked with fixed eyes as in a trance—neither the silence broke.
He spurned the jewels with his foot, then knelt to kiss her hand—
He the poor vagrant London poet, and she the lady of the land.
Looked with fixed eyes as in a trance—neither the silence broke.
He spurned the jewels with his foot, then knelt to kiss her hand—
He the poor vagrant London poet, and she the lady of the land.
Humbly Mabel turned to thank him, with an almost tearful smile,
Looking at his breast and forehead, lest some wound should bleed the while.
Low he bowed, and was departing, picking up a broken sword,
Fearing ambush from the vengeance of some bruised and beaten lord.
Looking at his breast and forehead, lest some wound should bleed the while.
Low he bowed, and was departing, picking up a broken sword,
Fearing ambush from the vengeance of some bruised and beaten lord.
“Edward,” said she, soft and gently, as a whisper in a dream:
Like a prophet's revelation then upon him burst love's beam.
He turned, and kissed her lips and forehead, and one long wind-driven tress,
Then whispered; and a soft low murmur, scarcely syllabled, said “Yes.”
Like a prophet's revelation then upon him burst love's beam.
He turned, and kissed her lips and forehead, and one long wind-driven tress,
Then whispered; and a soft low murmur, scarcely syllabled, said “Yes.”
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |