THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE LADY Sir Geoffrey met the white lady
Upon his marriage morn,
Her eyes were blue as cornflowers are,
Her hair was gold like corn.
Sir Geoffrey gave the white lady
A posy of roses seven,
“You are the fairest May,” said he,
“That ever strayed from Heaven.”
Sir Geoffrey by the white lady
Was lured away to shame,
For seven long years of prayers and tears
No tidings of him came.
Then she who should have been his bride
A mighty oath she swore,
“For seven long years I have wept and prayed,
Now I will pray no more.
“Since God and all the saints of Heaven
Bring not my lord to me,
I will go down myself to hell
And bring him back,” said she.
** * * *
She crept to the white lady’s bower,
The taper’s flame was dim,
And there Sir Geoffrey lay asleep,
And the white witch sat by him.
Her arm was laid across his neck,
Her gold hair on his face,
And there was silence in the room
As in a burial-place.
And there were gems and carven cups,
And ’broidered bridal gear—
“Whose bridal is this?” the lady said,
“And what knight have ye here?”
“The good knight here ye know full well,
He was your lord, I trow,
But I have taken him from your side,
And I am his lady now.
“This seven year with right good cheer
We twain our bridal keep,
So take for your mate another knight
And let my dear lord sleep.”
Then up and spake Sir Geoffrey’s bride,
“What bridal cheer is this?
I would think scorn to have the lips
Who could not have the kiss!
“I would think scorn to take the half
Who could not have the whole;
I would think scorn to steal the body
Who could not take the soul!
“For, though ye hold his body fast
This seven weary year,
His soul walks ever at my side
And whispers in my ear.
“I would think scorn to hold in sleep
What, if it waked, would flee,
So let his body join his soul
And both fare forth with me;
“For I have learned a spell more strong
Than yours that laid him low,
And I will speak it for his sake
Because I love him so!”
The white lady threw back her hair,
Her eyes began to shine—
“His soul is thine these seven years?—
To-night it shall be mine!
“I have been brave to hold him here
While seven long years befell,
Rather than let a bridal be
Whose seed should flower in hell.
“I have not looked into his eyes
Nor joined my lips to his,
For fear his soul should spring to flame
And shrivel at my kiss.
“I have been brave to watch his sleep
While the long hours come and go,
To hold the body without the soul,
Because I love him so.
“But since his soul this seven year
Has sat by thee,” she said,
“His body and soul to-night shall lie
Upon my golden bed.
“Thou hast no need to speak the spell
That thou hast learned,” said she,
“For I will wake him from his sleep
And take his soul from thee.”
She stooped above him where he lay,
She laid her lips on his;
He stirred, he spake: “These seven long years
I have waited for thy kiss.
“My soul has hung upon thy lips
And trembled at thy breath,
Thou hast given me life in a cup to drink,
As God will give me death.
“Why didst thou fear to kill my soul
Which only lives for thee?
Thou hast put seven wasted years,
O love, ’twixt thee and me.”
THE GHOST BEREFT The poor ghost came through the wind and rain
And passed down the old dear road again.
Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed
Like little children that shrank afraid.
The wind was wild and the night was late
When the poor ghost came to the garden gate;
Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet,
The weeds stood up where the rose was set.
The wind was angry, the rain beat sore
When the poor ghost came to its own house-door.
“And shall I find her a-weeping still
To think how alone I lie and chill?
“Or shall I find her happy and warm
With her dear head laid on a new love’s arm?
“Or shall I find she has learned to pine
For another’s love, and not for mine?
“Whatever chance, I have this to my store,
She is mine, my own, for evermore!”
So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain
Till it reached the square bright window pane.
“Oh! what is here in the room so bright?
Roses and love, and a hid delight?
“What lurks in the silence that fills the room?
A cypress wreath from a dead man’s tomb?
“What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be
Her heart that is breaking—and not for me?”
Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane,
Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain.
“Oh, there is light, at the feet and head
Twelve tall tapers about the bed.
“Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare,
But not the garland a bride may wear.
“Jasmine white and a white white rose,
But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes.
“Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier—
But the room is empty—she is not here!
“Her body lies here, deserted, cold;
And the body that loved it creeps in the mould.
“Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free,
Would not have hastened and come to me?
“Can the soul that loved mine long ago
Be hence and away, and I not know?
“Oh, then God’s judgment is on me sore,
For I have lost her for evermore!”
And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain
To its own appointed place again.
** * * *
But up in Heaven, where memories cease
Because the blessed have won to peace,
One pale saint shivered, and closer wound
The shining raiment that wrapped her round.
“Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I,
Yet I fain would remember the days gone by.
“The past is veiled, and I may not know,
But I think there was sorrow, long ago;
“The sun of Heaven is warm and bright,
But I think there is rain on the earth to-night.
“O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain
Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.”
THE VAIN SPELL The house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white,
The fields are alight with dew;
“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night?
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew,
O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart,
That the night of all nights is this,
When elm shall crack and lead shall part,
When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts start
To let you through to my kiss.”
So spake she alone in the lonely house.
She had wrapped her round with the spell,
She called the call, she vowed the vow,
And the heart she had pledged knew well
That this was the night, the only night,
When the moulds might be wrenched apart,
When the living and dead, in the dead of the night,
Might clasp once more, in the grave’s despite,
For the price of a living heart.
But out in the grave the corpse lay white
And the grave clothes were wet with dew;
“Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night,
I have waited the whole night through,
For I knew
That I dared not leave my grave for an hour
Since the hour of all hours is near,
When you shall come to the hollow bower,
In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power,
To the heart that to-night beats here!”
The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still;
Ah, God! do the dead forget?
The grave is white and the bed is chill,
But a guest may be coming yet.
But the hour has come and the hour has gone
That never will come again;
Love’s only chance is over and done,
And the quick and the dead are twain, not one,
And the price has been paid in vain.
THE ADVENTURER The land of gold was far away,
The sea a challenge roared between;
I left my throne, my crown, my queen,
And sailed out of the quiet bay.
I met the challenge of the wave,
The curses of the winds I mocked:
The conquered wave my galley rocked,
The wind became my envious slave.
I brought much treasure from afar,
Spices, and shells, and rich attire;
Red rubies, fed with living fire,
To lie where all my longings are.
Heavy with spoil my keel ploughed low
As slow we sailed into the bay,
And long ago seemed yesterday
And yesterday looked long ago.
I came in triumph from the sea;
Bent was my crown, my courts grown mean,
And on my throne a faded queen
Raised alien eyes, and looked at me.
“My queen! These rubies let me lay
Upon thy heart, as once my head ...”
She smiled pale scorn: “My heart!” she said,
And turned her weary eyes away.
IN THE ENCHANTED TOWER The waves in thunderous menace break
Upon the rocks below my tower,
And none will dare the Sea-king’s power
And venture shipwreck for my sake.
Yet once,—my lamp a path of light
Across the darkling sea had cast—
I saw a sail; at last, at last,
It came towards me through the night.
My lamp had been the beacon set
To lead the ship through mist and foam,
The ship that came to take me home,
To that far land I half forget.
But since my tower is built so high,
And surf-robed rocks curl hid below,
I quenched my lamp—and, weeping low
I saw my ship go safely by!
FAITH Through the long night, the deathlong night,
Along the dark and haunted way,
I knew your hidden face was bright—
More bright than any day.
And when the faint, insistent moan
Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave,
I said, “I do not walk alone;
’Tis easy to be brave.”
I never turned to speak with you,
For all the way was dark and long,
But all the shadows’ menace through
Your silence was my song.
I never sought to take your hand,
For all the way was long and rough;
I taught my soul to understand
That love was strength enough.
Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near,
A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band;
I called aloud for you to hear,
My hand besought your hand.
No voice, no touch—the thin ghosts glide
Where in my dream I dreamed you were—
Night, night, you are not by my side,
You never have been there!
THE REFUSAL Mine is a palace fair to see,
All hung with gold and silver things,
It is more glorious than a king’s,
And crownÈd queens might envy me.
Ah, no, I will not let you in!
Stay rather at the gates and weep
For all the splendour that I keep,
The treasures that you cannot win.
While you desire and I refuse,
For both the palace still is here—
Its turrets gold, its silver gear
Are yours to wish for—mine to use.
But if I let you in, I know
The spell would break, the palace fade,
And we stand, trembling and afraid,
Lost in the dark where chill winds blow.
PRELUDE Out of the west when the sun was dying
Clouds of white wings came flying, flying,
Wheeling and whirling they swept away
Into the heart of the eastern gray;
But one white dove came straight to my breast
Out of the west.
Into the west when the dawn was pearly
Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early,
Straight from the world of the waning stars;
O beating pinions! O prison bars!
My dove flies free no more with the rest
Into the west.
AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM Are you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair,
And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear?
Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough?
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of red
And I’m tired of woman’s chatter, and I’ll hear the drum instead;
I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow,
For I’m going for a soldier now.
For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go,
To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow?
I’ll make you sweeter music, for I’ll swear another vow—
Are you going for a soldier now?
I am going for a soldier if you’d twenty vows to make;
You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break,
For I’m sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough,
And I’m going for a soldier now!
THE GOOSE-GIRL I wandered lonely by the sea,
As is my daily use,
I saw her drive across the lea
The gander and the goose.
The gander and the gray, gray goose,
She drove them all together;
Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose,
All in the wild gray weather.
“O dainty maid who drive the geese
Across the common wide,
Turn, turn your pretty back on these
And come and be my bride.
I am a poet from the town,
And, ’mid the ladies there,
There is not one would wear a crown
With half your charming air!”
She laughed, she shook her pretty head.
“I want no poet’s hand;
Go read your fairy-books,” she said,
“For this is fairy-land.
My Prince comes riding o’er the leas;
He fitly comes to woo,
For I’m a Princess, and my geese
Were poets, once, like you!”
THE PEDLAR Fly, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly!
And see if you can find him;
He has blue eyes—you’ll know him by,—
He wears a pack behind him.
He’s gone away—ah! many a mile
Because he could not please me,
And, oh! ’twill be a weary while
Ere next he comes to tease me.
He carries wares of every kind,
Fine ribbons, silks, and laces,
Bargains to rhyme with every mind,
And hues to suit all faces.
He has gold rings and pretty things
That other maids will throng for,
Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings,
And fly to him I long for.
Tell him to turn and come again,
For once I sent him packing;
He offered me a bargain then,
But wit and price were lacking.
I have the price he asked of me,
The wit that will not weigh it;
Ah! bid him come again and see
How gladly I will pay it.
A heart of gold he offered me
As ’twere a penny fairing,
And only asked a worthless fee,
This heavy heart I’m wearing.
I would not then—now long and drear
The white way winds behind him;
Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear,
But you will never find him!
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL When my good-nights and prayers are said
And I am safe tucked up in bed,
I know my guardian angel stands
And holds my soul between his hands.
I cannot see his wings of light
Because I keep my eyes shut tight,
For, if I open them, I know
My pretty angel has to go.
But through the darkness I can hear
His white wings rustling very near;
I know it is his darling wings,
Not Mother folding up my things!
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