 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
III.
Whilst the serfs and vassals bidden feasted richly, one and all,
Came there up a traveller lowly, asking shelter in the hall:
“Give me, gentle sirs, I pray you, of your pity give me bread;
Night is hastening, and I know not where to lay my weary head.”
Came there up a traveller lowly, asking shelter in the hall:
“Give me, gentle sirs, I pray you, of your pity give me bread;
Night is hastening, and I know not where to lay my weary head.”
“Welcome art thou, wanderer weary; thou shalt find both food and rest,
And at table shalt be seated with the noblest and the best;
Pray draw nigh, friend, that my husband and myself may tend our guest.”
And at table shalt be seated with the noblest and the best;
Pray draw nigh, friend, that my husband and myself may tend our guest.”
As they trod the first gay measure, said the bride with winsome glance:
“What is't aileth thee, poor stranger, that thou dost not join the dance?”
“What is't aileth thee, poor stranger, that thou dost not join the dance?”
“Nothing, lady. If I dance not,” answered he with falt'ring breath,
“'Tis that, worn and faint with travel, I am wearied unto death.”
“'Tis that, worn and faint with travel, I am wearied unto death.”
151
As they trod the second measure, said the bride with winsome glance:
“What! art weary still, I pray thee, that thou wilt not join the dance?”
“What! art weary still, I pray thee, that thou wilt not join the dance?”
“Lady, yes, I am a-weary; oh, most weary am I still!
And a weight is at my bosom, and a pain my heart doth fill.”
And a weight is at my bosom, and a pain my heart doth fill.”
At the third dance, smiling sweetly, thus outspoke the lady free:
“Come, sir stranger, of thy courtesy, come and join the dance with me.”
“Come, sir stranger, of thy courtesy, come and join the dance with me.”
“Lady, surely this great honour is, for one like me, too high;
Yet who could be so uncourteous as decline or pass it by?”
Yet who could be so uncourteous as decline or pass it by?”
As they dance he leans and whispers, hissing hoarsely in her ears,
Whilst a smile both wan and ghastly on his white lips now appears,
“Where's the ring of gold I gave thee, at the door where here we stand?
Scarce a twelvemonth has pass'd over since I press'd it on thy hand.”
Whilst a smile both wan and ghastly on his white lips now appears,
“Where's the ring of gold I gave thee, at the door where here we stand?
Scarce a twelvemonth has pass'd over since I press'd it on thy hand.”
152
Then, with eyes and hands uplifted, cried the bride in awe-struck tone,
“All my peace, O God, is over, all my happiness is gone!
Deeming that I was bereavèd, that my first love lost his life,
Now, instead of one, two husbands claim me for their wedded wife!”
“All my peace, O God, is over, all my happiness is gone!
Deeming that I was bereavèd, that my first love lost his life,
Now, instead of one, two husbands claim me for their wedded wife!”
“No! thou'rt wrong indeed, fair maiden, not one husband hast thou now;”
And forth from his vest he draweth, with an angry flashing brow—
Draweth forth the hidden dagger, which he to the very hilt
Buries in the maiden's bosom, trembling deeply for her guilt.
Then her head down drooping slowly, on his quivering breast she lies,
And close to the heart that loved her, calling on her God, she dies.
In Daouly's cloister'd Abbey, you may see a statue fair,
And forth from his vest he draweth, with an angry flashing brow—
Draweth forth the hidden dagger, which he to the very hilt
Buries in the maiden's bosom, trembling deeply for her guilt.
Then her head down drooping slowly, on his quivering breast she lies,
And close to the heart that loved her, calling on her God, she dies.
'Tis of Christ, His virgin mother, which a purple zone doth wear;
'Tis y'decked with sparkling rubies, that most costly seem to be,
And have all been brought with danger far from countries 'cross the sea.
153
At the feet of Mary, shaken with a storm of tears and sighs.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |