XCIX. CHILDLESS.
I
There stands a castle by the shore,
Rich with the memories of yore.
Weary, oh weary, and woe is me!
And in it dwells a lady rare,
Pure and lovely, with golden hair,
By the sad waves plashing wearily.
II
The master is a Baron bold,
Gallant and young, with store of gold;
Weary, oh weary, and woe is he!
Store of all that man can crave
To cheer the pathway to the grave,
By the sad waves plashing wearily.
III
The lady bright is kind and good,
The paragon of womanhood,
Weary, ah weary, and woe is she!
And her wedded lord is leal and sure,
Beloved alike of rich and poor,
By the sad waves plashing wearily.
IV
There dwells a fisherman on the strand,
In a little cot with a rood of land;
Merry, oh merry, and brisk is he!
With his bonnie wife and his romping boys,
Who climb to his knees with a pleasant noise,
By the wild waves plashing cheerily.
V
And the lady of the castle sighs
When she meets the fisherwife's gladdening eyes.
Weary, oh weary, and woe is she!
And wishes that Heaven, to bless her life,
Had made her mother as well as wife,
By the wild waves plashing wearily.
VI
The lord of the castle, riding home
O'er the hard sea sand where the breakers foam,
Weary, oh weary, and woe is he!
oft sees the fisher, his labour done,
Sit with his wife in the glint o' the sun
By the wild waves plashing cheerily:
VII
Sit with his wife and his boys and girls,
Kissing their cheeks, and twining their curls.
Weary, oh weary, and woe is he!
And turns his envious eyes aside,
And well-nigh weeps for all his pride
By the wild waves plashing wearily.
VIII
I'd give, thinks he, my rank and state,
My wealth, that little men call so great,
Weary, oh weary, and woe is me!
Could I but know this fisherman's joys,
A wife to love, and girls and boys,
By the wild waves plashing cheerily.
