 | Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell |  |
LORD NANN AND THE FAIRY.
I.
Lord Nann and his gentle bride were wed in days of early youth,
And early they were doomed to part, tho' full of love and truth.
But yesterday the dame bore twins, white as the drifting snow,
And sweet as spring-tide roses are, which from one stalk outgrow.
And early they were doomed to part, tho' full of love and truth.
But yesterday the dame bore twins, white as the drifting snow,
And sweet as spring-tide roses are, which from one stalk outgrow.
“Now tell me, love, what is the food for which thy heart doth pine,
And as this day a son thou'st borne, it quickly shall be thine.
Wilt woodcock from the valley have, where grows the primrose sweet,
Or venison from the deep green-wood to make thee savoury meat?”
And as this day a son thou'st borne, it quickly shall be thine.
Wilt woodcock from the valley have, where grows the primrose sweet,
Or venison from the deep green-wood to make thee savoury meat?”
154
“Oh, venison, dear, it likes me best! but weary is the chase;”
The words her lips had scarcely crossed when he started from his place,
And seized right fast his oaken spear his manly hands between,
Then leapt with speed on his coal-black steed and gained the forest green.
The words her lips had scarcely crossed when he started from his place,
And seized right fast his oaken spear his manly hands between,
Then leapt with speed on his coal-black steed and gained the forest green.
A milk-white doe full soon he saw on the borders of the brake,
He followed so fleet, that beneath his feet the trembling earth did shake;
He followed so fleet, that from his brow the big drops fell like rain,
And his gallant courser's panting sides the foam did fleck and stain.
He followed so fleet, that beneath his feet the trembling earth did shake;
He followed so fleet, that from his brow the big drops fell like rain,
And his gallant courser's panting sides the foam did fleck and stain.
And now the sinking day declined, and deepened into night,
While overhead the radiant stars shone out both clear and bright.
Near to the grot of Königinn, where all was soft and green,
A streamlet held its silver course the flowers and moss between.
While overhead the radiant stars shone out both clear and bright.
Near to the grot of Königinn, where all was soft and green,
A streamlet held its silver course the flowers and moss between.
Lord Nann he now did light him down, close to the streamlet's brink,
And stooping low he thought full sure the cooling wave to drink.
And stooping low he thought full sure the cooling wave to drink.
155
II.
Beside her well, the Königinn sat combing out her hair,
She combed all with a golden comb the tresses bright and fair;
For rich they say such ladies are: oh, richer far, I ween,
Than dames who stately lead the dance in halls of king and queen!
She combed all with a golden comb the tresses bright and fair;
For rich they say such ladies are: oh, richer far, I ween,
Than dames who stately lead the dance in halls of king and queen!
“How! Art so rash as dare to shake the Fairy's charmed well?
Here take thy choice of these three things, which to thy face I tell:
Wed me at once, upon this spot, or pine for seven long years,
Or die, ere three short days have run their course, in grief and tears.”
Here take thy choice of these three things, which to thy face I tell:
Wed me at once, upon this spot, or pine for seven long years,
Or die, ere three short days have run their course, in grief and tears.”
“With thee I may not, cannot wed, as for a twelvemonth now
A sweet young bride has called me lord, and owns the marriage vow;
Nor shall I pine for seven long years, nor die in three short days,
But when it pleaseth God I shall, in His all-gracious ways.
And yet I'd die contented here, and end at once my life,
All cold outstretched upon my bier, sooner than call thee wife.”
A sweet young bride has called me lord, and owns the marriage vow;
Nor shall I pine for seven long years, nor die in three short days,
But when it pleaseth God I shall, in His all-gracious ways.
And yet I'd die contented here, and end at once my life,
All cold outstretched upon my bier, sooner than call thee wife.”
156
III.
“Kind mother, as thou lovest me, oh, make my bed full soon!
If until now it be not made, I pray thee grant this boon,
For I am sick and very weak, but do not breathe a word
To my own dearest spouse of this, to him I call my lord.
Yet in three days I shall be there, ‘where the weary are at rest.’
And pillow my head amongst the dead, down on the earth's cold breast.
On me a Königinn has cast, I know the truth full well,
A charm that withers up my life, a dark unholy spell.”
And when three days had flown away, the young wife feebly said,
Her snowy hands both pressed against her hot and throbbing head:
If until now it be not made, I pray thee grant this boon,
For I am sick and very weak, but do not breathe a word
To my own dearest spouse of this, to him I call my lord.
Yet in three days I shall be there, ‘where the weary are at rest.’
And pillow my head amongst the dead, down on the earth's cold breast.
On me a Königinn has cast, I know the truth full well,
A charm that withers up my life, a dark unholy spell.”
And when three days had flown away, the young wife feebly said,
Her snowy hands both pressed against her hot and throbbing head:
“Oh, tell me, mother, of my lord! why do the bells all ring,
Why do the priests chant down below, why white-robed do they sing?”
Why do the priests chant down below, why white-robed do they sing?”
“A poor, unhappy man, my love, who lodged with us, has died;”
“Oh, tell me, mother mine, what keeps my husband from my side!”
“He's ridden to the town, my child, and soon thou shalt him see;”
“Dear mother, now I pray thee tell, and truly tell to me,
What robe shall I put on this day, my blue robe or my red,
That I may go into the church and hear the masses said?”
“Oh, tell me, mother mine, what keeps my husband from my side!”
157
“Dear mother, now I pray thee tell, and truly tell to me,
What robe shall I put on this day, my blue robe or my red,
That I may go into the church and hear the masses said?”
“If thou dost want the newest mode, why then I hear them say,
A black robe is the fittest gear for those who go to pray.”
A black robe is the fittest gear for those who go to pray.”
As up the churchyard's sloping path right gently she passed on,
Lo! her poor husband's grave she sees, and at its head a stone;
“Which of our kin has died so late?” in faltering voice she said,
“That all so fresh the earth is turned. Oh, tell me who is dead!”
Lo! her poor husband's grave she sees, and at its head a stone;
“Which of our kin has died so late?” in faltering voice she said,
“That all so fresh the earth is turned. Oh, tell me who is dead!”
“Alas! my darling daughter, 'tis vain to hide it now;
O, woe! it is thy husband, who doth lie the earth below.”
O, woe! it is thy husband, who doth lie the earth below.”
On her two knees the lady sank, she sank to rise no more,
Her spirit passed to that bright land, where her lord had gone before.
Her spirit passed to that bright land, where her lord had gone before.
'Twas strange, I ween, when fell the night upon the day she died,
And down they laid her in the grave, close to her husband's side,
To see two oaks spring from the tomb, which reared their branches high,
All rich in summer foliage green, against the clear blue sky;
And on their boughs two milk-white doves sat fluttering bright and gay,
Which, when the purple morning broke, to heaven did wing their way.
158
To see two oaks spring from the tomb, which reared their branches high,
All rich in summer foliage green, against the clear blue sky;
And on their boughs two milk-white doves sat fluttering bright and gay,
Which, when the purple morning broke, to heaven did wing their way.
| Poems Old and New by Charles D. Bell | |