Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Dead Bride.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
39
The Dead Bride.
The banners curl and flutter,
The scarfs flow crimson billowing out,
The silver trumpets sounding loud,
The people cheer with hearty shout:
Beneath the gilded canopy,
In mournful beauty and in pride,
Followed by lords and ladies,
Paces the royal bride.
The scarfs flow crimson billowing out,
The silver trumpets sounding loud,
The people cheer with hearty shout:
Beneath the gilded canopy,
In mournful beauty and in pride,
Followed by lords and ladies,
Paces the royal bride.
In gardens, sweet but lonely,
The sea-god holds his trident up;
Fast from his horn the bright drops pour,
Like silver pieces from a cup.
The goddess of the place is gone,
She heads that royal train to-day,—
The fruit may fall in sun and shade,
The flowers may bloom for whom they may.
The sea-god holds his trident up;
Fast from his horn the bright drops pour,
Like silver pieces from a cup.
The goddess of the place is gone,
She heads that royal train to-day,—
The fruit may fall in sun and shade,
The flowers may bloom for whom they may.
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Hang tapestry from every roof,
Bring out the silver plate and gold,
In every room the tables set,
With jewelled cups for young and old.
The conduit's running red with wine,
The minster bells are mad for joy,
Yet not a maiden seems to smile,
Nor laughs one single merry boy.
Bring out the silver plate and gold,
In every room the tables set,
With jewelled cups for young and old.
The conduit's running red with wine,
The minster bells are mad for joy,
Yet not a maiden seems to smile,
Nor laughs one single merry boy.
Not once the grim king looks at her,
A thunder-cloud is on his brow,
As now beneath the city gates
Again the silver clarions blow.
How like a conqueror he walks
Living above the crowd, apart,
More like the burner of a town
Than he who wins a woman's heart.
A thunder-cloud is on his brow,
As now beneath the city gates
Again the silver clarions blow.
How like a conqueror he walks
Living above the crowd, apart,
More like the burner of a town
Than he who wins a woman's heart.
They say he's cruel, grim, and cold,
A fierce oppressor of the boor,
A man relentless, hard, and bad,
Who grinds the pale face of the poor.
They say that she was sold to him,
Torn like a wild dove from its nest;
They say she fades, like April snow.
'T is a hard fate—but God knows best.
A fierce oppressor of the boor,
A man relentless, hard, and bad,
Who grinds the pale face of the poor.
They say that she was sold to him,
Torn like a wild dove from its nest;
They say she fades, like April snow.
'T is a hard fate—but God knows best.
Yet all without the city walls
Is white with flowering May;
The sunshine paves the road with gold
This radiant holiday.
The little birds their ceaseless hymns
Are singing in the sky,
Only one cloud is rolling white
Through the blue sea on high.
Is white with flowering May;
The sunshine paves the road with gold
This radiant holiday.
The little birds their ceaseless hymns
Are singing in the sky,
Only one cloud is rolling white
Through the blue sea on high.
And now they come to where the steeds
With curtained litter wait,
And watchful spearmen guarding stand
Outside the western gate.
Then in that little silken nest
The bride is onward borne,
With clang of steel and clash of brass,
And merry-sounding horn.
With curtained litter wait,
And watchful spearmen guarding stand
Outside the western gate.
Then in that little silken nest
The bride is onward borne,
With clang of steel and clash of brass,
And merry-sounding horn.
O had her clothing been a shroud,
No paler were the bride;
It seems as if it were a vault
To which she deigns to ride.
In vain the grim king whispers
Rude warnings in her ear,
She greets his jesting with a sigh,
His soothing with a tear.
No paler were the bride;
It seems as if it were a vault
To which she deigns to ride.
In vain the grim king whispers
Rude warnings in her ear,
She greets his jesting with a sigh,
His soothing with a tear.
Sweet waters maidens sprinkled
Before the bridal train,
White May-flowers frolic horsemen
Over the lady rain.
Fair boys, with angels' voices,
Sang hymns to love and Spring,
Glad thousands shouted welcomes
That make the green woods ring.
Before the bridal train,
White May-flowers frolic horsemen
Over the lady rain.
Fair boys, with angels' voices,
Sang hymns to love and Spring,
Glad thousands shouted welcomes
That make the green woods ring.
There were basses deep and lusty,
And tenors silvery shrill
Singing, and all together,
As the train wound over the hill.
But whether it was hill or moor,
Or whether it was dale,
The bride was ever silent,
The bride was ever pale.
And tenors silvery shrill
Singing, and all together,
As the train wound over the hill.
But whether it was hill or moor,
Or whether it was dale,
The bride was ever silent,
The bride was ever pale.
“Ho!” cried a page who stopped the band,
“What mean ye thus to ride
With a golden glare and a trumpet blare,
And all for a dead-cold bride?”
The horsemen stopped in anger,
And crowded to the front;
The bridegroom looked still sterner
Even than he was wont.
“What mean ye thus to ride
With a golden glare and a trumpet blare,
And all for a dead-cold bride?”
The horsemen stopped in anger,
And crowded to the front;
The bridegroom looked still sterner
Even than he was wont.
The trumpets ceased, the voices failed,
The banners were furled down,
The rear ranks thought the vanguard
Had reached the royal town.
The ranks were broke—they drew apart
The curtains gold and red,—
Beneath the canopy there lay
The young bride pale and dead.
The banners were furled down,
The rear ranks thought the vanguard
Had reached the royal town.
The ranks were broke—they drew apart
The curtains gold and red,—
Beneath the canopy there lay
The young bride pale and dead.
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The page put ring upon her hand,
And knelt by her dead side;
“Thou, Death, hast wedded her to me,”
He in his anguish cried.
“Kill him!” a hundred voices
Shouted; and in a breath
He seized the cold hand of the corpse.
And with her welcomed death.
And knelt by her dead side;
“Thou, Death, hast wedded her to me,”
He in his anguish cried.
“Kill him!” a hundred voices
Shouted; and in a breath
He seized the cold hand of the corpse.
And with her welcomed death.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |