That woman's faith 's a brittle trustseven twelvemonths didst thou say? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth be yond the seventh fair day.' The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was full of care, His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, To whom he spoke right anxiously, 'Thou trusty squire to me, Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea? 'To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band; And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till seven long years are gone, And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John?' Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young, And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue: It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, 'Oh would that I had ne'er been born! what tidings have I heard! To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, 'My noble lord, cast care away, and But, God! that e'er a squire untrue on your journey wend, And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end. 'Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride; And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year.' The noble Meringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek; should wed my Lady fair. 'Ogood Saint Thomas, hear,' he pray'd, 'my patron Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name, And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame.' It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd his care; He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a rill, High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. The Moringer he started up as one from And to the warder thus he spoke : 'Friend, to thy Lady say, spell unbound, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land wildly all around; 'I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe!' craves harbour for a day. 'I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is wellnigh done, And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sun; He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, to the mill he drew, a pilgrim's bed and dole, So alter'd was his goodly form that And for the sake of Moringer's, her none their master knew; The Baron to the miller said, 'Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be?' The miller answered him again, 'He knew of little news, Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose; Her husband died in distant land, The Lady's gentle heart was moved; such is the constant word; His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord. 'Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free; God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me! And when Saint Martin's tide comes 'Do up the gate,' she said, 'And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed; And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay, These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day.' It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad; round, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer. It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode; shall have both cope and stole.' It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, 'And have thou thanks, kind heaven,' he said, though from a man of sin, And stood before the bolted gate That the true lord stands here once a woe and weary man; 'Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take, To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break.' His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe; more his castle-gate within.' Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow; It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord to know; He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woc and wrong, Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long. Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour, The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower; 'Our castle's wont,' a bridesman said, 'hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a song.' Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, 'lay shalm and harp aside; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.' 'Chill flows the lay of frozen age,' 'twas thus the pilgrim sung; Nor golden meed nor garment gay unlocks his heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. 'But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-hair'd, For locks ofbrown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard; Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.' It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears, And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears; She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take, And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. Then to the cupbearer he said, 'Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed; Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay, And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer grey.' The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied, The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride; 'Lady,' he said, 'your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer grey.' The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, 'The Moringer is here!' Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell, But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every saintly power, That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight hour; And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, amid the wine 'to constant matrons due, A bridal ring of burning gold so costly Who keep the troth that they have and so fine: plight, so stedfastly and true; For count the term howe'er you will, O father, see yonder! see yonder!' O, who rides by night thro' the wood- O father, my father, and saw you not It is the fond father embracing his The Erl-King's pale daughter glide child; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, himself warm. past thro' the rain?' 'O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon ; To hold himself fast, and to keep It was the grey willow that danced to the moon.' |