University of Virginia Library

THE ELFIN WOMAN.

All sad and slow, a little bark
Hath left our northern hold;
The winds are high, the night is dark,
The ocean path untold.
And they who in that boat are set
Are sad and woe-begone;
A gallant knight of stalwart might,
A lady and her son.
And that lady's cheek is pale
As is the lily's breast;
And she, with many a mournful tale,
Has hush'd her babe to rest.
And he who sits beside her there,
With eye of love, and brow of care,
And mantle wrapp'd round aching breast,
Is one who may not taste of rest.
Forlorn of hope, his friends are flown,
Little of joy his soul hath known;
He loves not man, and how should he?
For all have long deserted him:
Nor page nor friend he now may see
Would pledge him on the goblet's brim.
And ladies' love how can he heed?
They too have fled in time of need;
And those bright, laughing eyes that shone
On him, in prideful hour, are gone.
And those dear lips, with wreathed smiles,
And bosoms skill'd in flattery's wiles,
They smile not now, nor seek the power
To soothe him in his woful hour.
But there is one, in weal and woe,
Who hath not changed, nor change can know;
And he is pledged to none beside
Fair Ellen the true, his matchless bride.
And she, when from his lonely hall
The guests and friends were fled,
Cheer'd him, with hope she might not feel,
Nor ever a tear she shed.
And she hath left her maiden bower,
And left her father's side;
And gain'd the scorn and curse of all,
To be a foeman's bride.
And now her little babe is born,
The heir of mickle woe;
And rage is in its father's breast,
As angry chief may know;
For he hath neither kith nor kin
To help him in his strait,
And foemen of the deadliest mould
Are gathering at his gate.
And ever by his side he sees,
To mar his best design,
An elfin woman, stern and old,
The hater of his line.
Awhile, an angel form she wears,
And woos and soothes his pride;
And with a holy oath she swears
To grant and do the whole he dares,
So she may be his bride.
But when she sees his rage arise,
Or hears his Ellen's name,
Before his wilder'd view he spies
A form of disproportion'd size,
All girt in sulphurous flame.
And then a cursed sword she draws
From out her fiery vest,
And dire and deep revenge she vows,
And points it to his breast.
“And see,” she cries, “this trusty blade,
And note its ghastly stain;
This is the blood of thine own race,
Who by this hand were slain.
And hear me now, thou lofty lord,
And listen to my command:
Take thou my dire and proved sword
With firm determined hand,
And hie thee to fair Ellen's side,
And plunge it in her breast,
And rid thee of thy bonny bride,
And so thou shalt have rest.
And give me here thy little son
Whom thou dost so adore,
And I will quit thy castle hall,
And never see thee more.
But if thou scornest my behest,
Ye three shall never taste of rest.”
He took that blade, but not to shed
The blood of his fair bride;
He heard the threat, and, wild with dread,
He turn'd his head aside.
And when he turn'd him round again,
That elfin woman laugh'd amain;
And, with a wild and hideous sneer,
Scream'd loudly in his tortured ear:
“Now fond, true knight, thy courage deal,
And know that blade is trusty steel;
And if thou provest its temper well,
Loved, scornful knight, a long farewell.”
“Woe worth the hour!” the husband cried,
“I cannot wrong thee, bonny bride!
And woe's me,” said the father wild,
“I cannot, will not, lose my child!”
And then he flung the sword away,
And took the twain he loved so well;
And at the closing hour of day,
When slowly toll'd the vesper bell,
They left that tower's beleaguer'd wall;
And from the rocky shore are gone
A young and handsome chieftain tall,
A lady and her son.
They see not now the turret high,
They see not now the rocky shore;
There is a tempest in the sky,
Voices of storm are shrieking by,
And winds with wild uproar.
That little bark, how is it tost!
Good Heaven defend, or they are lost!
He hath his arm round her so dear,
To shield his love from ill;
And he doth strive her soul to cheer,
With hope he cannot feel.
“Fear not, fear not, my fair Ellén,
And hush thy bitter woe;
Thou, who hast faced our dire foemén,
A braver heart shouldst know.
And fear not for thy little babe,
Good Heaven will shield from harm;
His father's arm is stout and strong,
His mother's breast is warm.
Then fear not so, my fair Ellén,
The storm will soon be past;
And we will gain a sheltering bower,
And live in peace at last.”
With that they hear a screaming laugh,
And lo! before them stands
That elfin woman, raising high
Her gaunt and bony hands.
“And strivest thou now, young gallant knight,”
She cried, “'gainst wind and tide?
But who shall shield, in hour like this,
Thy fair and bonny bride?”
“Avaunt!” he cried, “thou spectre foe!
Thy taunts I little heed.”
And drawing forth a trusty blade,
Well tried in time of need,
He makes a firm and furious thrust,
With strength of angry blow;
But how may force of arm prevail
Against an airy foe?
Nor human skill hath any power
To make her vengeance quail;
Prayers have been said, and masses sung,
And all without avail.
There stands his furious, fleshless foe,
With that same bloody brand;
“And well I wot, young knight,” quoth she,
“Thou hast listen'd to my command!
And hear me now, thou young Ellén,
And let thy lord have rest;
Give me thy little baby boy
That slumbers on thy breast.”
“Oh! hear thee, Virgin-mother, hear!”
The lady cried in prayer;
And speechless stood her gallant lord,
And gazed in mad despair.
Now darker, drearier grew the night,
And rougher grew the main;
The sea-birds scream'd in wild affright,
Red flash'd the mazy lightning bright,
And furious pour'd the rain.
And ever, when the lightning's glare
Gleam'd past, they saw that woman there;
And ever, when the storm was laid,
They heard that woman's threats dismay'd.
But she has snatch'd that noble heir,
And the mother has heard its woful cry;
She has seen it dragg'd by its golden hair,
And seen it doom'd to die.
Wild was the shriek the lady gave,
When she saw it plunged in the boiling wave;
Wild was the woe her scream bewray'd,
When she heard its feeble cry for aid.
Ere long, and that elfin woman is gone,
And the little bark moves slowly on;
And the winds are hush'd, and the waters bear
Slowly along the sorrowing pair;
And the skies are clear, and the stars are bright,
And the little bark keeps its course aright;
But the lady is pale in dread and in death,
And has spoken her last with her parting breath;
And the gentle gale, as it wafted by,
Hath borne the lady's parting sigh;
And the morning sun, in light enroll'd,
Hath shone on the lady marble cold.
The knight return'd to his lonely hall,
And found the brave were gathering there,
With guest at his bidding, and page at his call,
And the ready smiles of ladies fair:
But his castle was ever a solitude,
And he never again was blithe of mood.