Symphonious notes of dulcet plaint
Followed the stranger minstrel's chaunt;
And, when his sounding harp was dumb,
The crowd, with loud applausive hum,
Gave hearty guerdon for his strain;
While some with sighs expressed what pain
Had pierced their simple bosoms thorow
To hear his song of death and sorrow.
"Come bear the mead-cup to our guest,"
Said Thorold to his daughter;
"We thought to hear, at our Yule feast,
A lay of mirth and laughter;
But, to thy harp, thou well hast sung
A song that may impart,
For future hours, to old and young,
Deep lessons to the heart.
Yet, should not life be all a sigh!
Good Snell, do thou a burthen try
Shall change our sadness into joy:
Such as thou trollest in blythe mood,
On days of sunshine in the wood.
Tell out thy heart withouten fear—
For none shall stifle free thoughts here!
But, bear the mead-cup, Edith sweet!
We crave our stranger guest will greet
All hearts, again, with minstrelsy,
When Snell hath trolled his mirth-notes free!"
Fairer than fairest flower that blows,—
Sweeter than breath of sweetest rose,—
Still on her cheek, in lustre left,
The tear the minstrel's tale had reft
From its pearl-treasure in the brain—
The limbec where, by mystic vein,
From the heart's fountains are distilled
Those crystals, when 'tis overfilled,—
With downcast eye, and trembling hands,
Edith before the stranger stands—
Stranger to all but her!
Though well the baron notes his brow,
While the young minstrel kneeleth low—
Love's grateful worshipper!—
And doth with lips devout impress
The hand of his fair ministress!
Yet, was the deed so meekly done,—
His guerdon seemed so fairly won,—
The tribute he to beauty paid
So deeply all believed deserved,—
That nought of blame Sir Wilfrid said,
Though much his thoughts from meekness swerved.
Impatience, soon, their faces tell
To hear the song of woodman Snell,
Among the festive crew;
And, soon, their old and honest frere,
Elated by the good Yule cheer,
In untaught notes, but full and clear,
Thus told his heart-thoughts true:—