 | The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics |  |
113
THE DEATH SCARF.
FROM AN OLD LEGEND.
Said the knight,—“Wilt thou broider this scarf to-day
With thy fairy fingers, so daintily?”
But the ladye's face was turned away—
“I am too busy, I wot!” quoth she.
With thy fairy fingers, so daintily?”
But the ladye's face was turned away—
“I am too busy, I wot!” quoth she.
And the knight, he left the ladye's bower,
But his face was troubled and sad to see—
“Dread is the omen, and dark the hour,
When love is too busy for love!” quoth he.
But his face was troubled and sad to see—
“Dread is the omen, and dark the hour,
When love is too busy for love!” quoth he.
He mounted his steed with a doleful air,
And he rode away to his own countrie;
He said not adien to his ladye fair—
“She is too busy for that,” thought he.
And he rode away to his own countrie;
He said not adien to his ladye fair—
“She is too busy for that,” thought he.
So the ladye sat alone that day,
While the sky grew dark and the foe drew nigh;
And she bade her page ride fast and say,
“Come back, Sir Knight, ere thy ladye die!”
While the sky grew dark and the foe drew nigh;
And she bade her page ride fast and say,
“Come back, Sir Knight, ere thy ladye die!”
114
Low bowed the page—loud laughed the knight,
And loud laughed all that companie;
“Now bear this message, Sir Page, aright,—
I am too busy, I wot,” quoth he.
And loud laughed all that companie;
“Now bear this message, Sir Page, aright,—
I am too busy, I wot,” quoth he.
The foeman's shafts flew thick and fast,
The ladye's vassals were fain to flee;
But long ere morn the peril was past,
The foeman stricken—the ladye free.
The ladye's vassals were fain to flee;
But long ere morn the peril was past,
The foeman stricken—the ladye free.
And a wounded knight was brought to her bower—
Sore wounded, even to death, was he;
Dread was the omen, and dark the hour,
And the ladye wept full bitterly.
Sore wounded, even to death, was he;
Dread was the omen, and dark the hour,
And the ladye wept full bitterly.
For she knew the shield, and she knew the crest,
And she knew the pale face, streaked with gore,
And she knew the scarf that bound his breast,
Whereat she wailed yet more and more.
And she knew the pale face, streaked with gore,
And she knew the scarf that bound his breast,
Whereat she wailed yet more and more.
But the knight looked up with glazing ee,
As a heavy shadow crept over his brow—
“When love is too busy for love,” quoth he,
“Then death is welcome, I trow!”
As a heavy shadow crept over his brow—
“When love is too busy for love,” quoth he,
“Then death is welcome, I trow!”
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