Then she has brought this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha, And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o them a’. When day was gane, and night was come, About the evening tide, This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side. “From whence came ye, young man?” she said; “That does surprise me sair; My door was bolted right secure, What way hae ye come here?” “O had your tongue, ye lady fair, Lat a’ your folly be; Mind ye not on your turtle-doo Last day ye brought wi thee?” “O tell me mair, young man,” she said, “This does surprise me now; What country hae ye come frae? What pedigree are you?” “My mither lives on foreign isles, She has nae mair but me; She is a queen o wealth and state, And birth and high degree. “Likewise well skilld in magic spells, As ye may plainly see, And she transformd me to yon shape, To charm such maids as thee. “I am a doo the live-lang day, A sprightly youth at night; This aye gars me appear mair fair In a fair maiden’s sight. “And it was but this verra day That I came ower the sea; Your lovely face did me enchant; I’ll live and dee wi thee.” “O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, Nae mair frae me ye’se gae;” “That’s never my intent, my luve, As ye said, it shall be sae.” “O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, It’s time for us to wed;” “Wi a’ my heart, my dear marrow, It’s be as ye hae said.” PART IIThen he has staid in bower wi her For sax lang years and ane, Till sax young sons to him she bare, And the seventh she’s brought hame. But aye as ever a child was born He carried them away, And brought them to his mither’s care, As fast as he coud fly. Thus he has staid in bower wi her For twenty years and three; There came a lord o high renown To court this fair ladie. But still his proffer she refused, And a’ his presents too; Says, “I’m content to live alane Wi my bird, Cow-me-doo.” Her father sware a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, “The morn, or ere I eat or drink, This bird I will gar kill.” The bird was sitting in his cage, And heard what they did say; And when he found they were dismist, Says, “Wae’s me for this day! “Before that I do langer stay, And thus to be forlorn, I’ll gang unto my mither’s bower, Where I was bred and born.” Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea, And lighted near his mither’s castle, On a tower o gowd sae hie. As his mither was wauking out, To see what she coud see, And there she saw her little son, Set on the tower sae hie. “Get dancers here to dance,” she said, “And minstrells for to play; For here’s my young son, Florentine, Come here wi me to stay.” “Get nae dancers to dance, mither, Nor minstrells for to play, For the mither o my seven sons, The morn’s her wedding-day.” “O tell me, tell me, Florentine, Tell me, and tell me true, Tell me this day without a flaw, What I will do for you.” “Instead of dancers to dance, mither, Or minstrells for to play, Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men Like storks in feathers gray; “My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; And I mysell a gay gos-hawk, A bird o high degree.” Then sichin said the queen hersell, “That thing’s too high for me;” But she applied to an auld woman, Who had mair skill than she. Instead o dancers to dance a dance, Or minstrells for to play, Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Turnd birds o feathers gray; Her seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; And he himsell a gay gos-hawk, A bird o high degree. This flock o birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea, And landed near the Earl Mar’s castle, Took shelter in every tree. They were a flock o pretty birds, Right comely to be seen; The people viewd them wi surprise, As they dancd on the green. These birds ascended frae the tree And lighted on the ha, And at the last wi force did flee Amang the nobles a’. The storks there seized some o the men, They coud neither fight nor flee; The swans they bound the bride’s best man Below a green aik tree. They lighted next on maidens fair, Then on the bride’s own head, And wi the twinkling o an ee The bride and them were fled. There’s ancient men at weddings been For sixty years or more, But sic a curious wedding-day They never saw before. For naething coud the companie do, Nor naething coud they say But they saw a flock o pretty birds That took their bride away. When that Earl Mar he came to know Where his dochter did stay, He signd a bond o’ unity, And visits now they pay. Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted was about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me. “Here is a royal belt,” she cried, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I vow my belt your death shall be.” He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal belt he brought him wi; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted twice about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me. “Here is a royal ring,” she said, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your finger it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my ring your death shall be.” He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal ring he brought him wi; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted ance about the tree, And with a swing she came about: “Come to Craigy’s sea, and kiss with me. “Here is a royal brand,” she said, “That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my brand your death shall be.” He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal brand he brought him wi; Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, And twisted nane about the tree, And smilingly she came about, As fair a woman as fair could be. Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right— The leaves upon her falling light— Thro’ the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot; And as the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott. Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was frozen slowly, And her eyes were darkened wholly, Turned to towered Camelot. For ere she reached upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song she died, The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her name, The Lady of Shalott. Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of royal cheer; And they crossed themselves for fear, All the Knights at Camelot: But Lancelot mused a little space; He said, “She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace, The Lady of Shalott.” Alfred, Lord Tennyson Then came the turn of the least daughter, That was whiter than thistle-down, And among the gold of her blithesome hair Dim shone the golden crown. “There came a bird this morning, And sang ’neath my bower eaves, Till I dreamed, as his music made me, ‘Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.’” Then the brow of the King swelled crimson With a flush of angry scorn: “Well have ye spoken, my two eldest, And chosen as ye were born; “But she, like a thing of peasant race, That is happy binding the sheaves;” Then he saw her dead mother in her face, And said, “Thou shalt have thy leaves.” IIHe mounted and rode three days and nights Till he came to Vanity Fair, And ’t was easy to buy the gems and the silk, But no Singing Leaves were there. Then deep in the Greenwood rode he, And asked of every tree, “Oh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf, I pray you give it me!” But the trees all kept their counsel, And never a word said they, Only there sighed from the pine-tops A music of seas far away. Only the pattering aspen Made a sound of growing rain, That fell ever faster and faster, Then faltered to silence again. “Oh, where shall I find a little foot-page That would win both hose and shoon, And will bring to me the Singing Leaves If they grow under the moon?” Then lightly turned him Walter the page, By the stirrup as he ran: “Now pledge you me the truesome word Of a King and gentleman, “That you will give me the first, first thing You meet at your castle-gate, And the Princess shall get the Singing Leaves, Or mine be a traitor’s fate.” The King’s head dropt upon his breast A moment, as it might be; ’T will be my dog, he thought, and said, “My faith I plight to thee.” Then Walter took from next his heart A packet small and thin, “Now give you this to the Princess Anne, The Singing Leaves are therein.” IIIAs the King rode in at his castle-gate, A maiden to meet him ran, And “Welcome, Father!” she laughed and cried Together, the Princess Anne. “Lo, here the Singing Leaves,” quoth he, “And woe, but they cost me dear!” She took the packet, and the smile Deepened down beneath the tear. It deepened down till it reached her heart, And then gushed up again, And lighted her tears as the sudden sun Transfigures the summer rain. And the first Leaf, when it was opened, Sang: “I am Walter the page, And the songs I sing ’neath thy window Are my only heritage.” And the second Leaf sang, “But in the land That is neither on earth nor sea, My lute and I are lords of more Than thrice this kingdom’s fee.” And the third Leaf sang, “Be mine! Be mine!” And ever it sang, “Be mine!” Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter, And said, “I am thine, thine, thine!” At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, At the second she turned aside, At the third, ’t was as if a lily flushed With a rose’s red heart’s tide. “Good counsel gave the bird,” said she, “I have my hope thrice o’er, For they sing to my very heart,” she said, “And it sings to them evermore.” She brought to him her beauty and truth, But and broad earldoms three, And he made her Queen of the broader lands He held of his lute in fee. James Russell Lowell The butler hears the words with pain, The house’s oldest seneschal, Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall; They call it the Luck of Edenhall. Then said the Lord: “This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal!” The greybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light: “This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall! “’T was right a goblet the Fate should be Of the joyous race of Edenhall! Deep draughts drink we right willingly And willingly ring, with merry call, Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!” First rings it deep, and full, and mild, Like to the song of a nightingale; Then like the roar of a torrent wild; Then mutters at last like the thunder’s fall, The glorious Luck of Edenhall. “For its keeper takes a race of might, The fragile goblet of crystal tall; It has lasted longer than is right; Kling! klang!—with a harder blow than all Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!” As the goblet ringing flies apart, Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall; And through the rift, the wild flames start; The guests in dust are scattered all, With the breaking Luck of Edenhall! In storms the foe, with fire and sword; He in the night had scaled the wall, Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, But holds in his hand the crystal tall, The shattered Luck of Edenhall. On the morrow the butler gropes alone, The greybeard in the desert hall, He seeks his Lord’s burnt skeleton,’ He seeks in the dismal ruin’s fall The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. “The stone wall,” saith he, “doth fall aside, Down must the stately columns fall; Glass is this earth’s Luck and Pride; In atoms shall fall this earthly ball One day like the Luck of Edenhall!” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Uhland Some said she was found in a Fairy Ring, And born of the Fairy Queen; For there was a rainbow behind the moon That night she first was seen. And no man could look on her face And eyne that beamed so dear But felt a sting go through his heart, Far sharper than a spear. So that around the Moril Glen Our brave young men did lie, With limbs as lydder and as lithe As duddis hung out to dry. And aye the tears ran down in streams O’er cheeks right woe-begone; And aye they gasped, and they gratte, And thus made piteous moan:— “Alack! that I had ever been born, Or dandelit on the knee; Or rockit in ane cradle bed, Beneath a mother’s e’e! “For love is like the fiery flame That quivers through the rain, And love is like the pang of death That splits the heart in twain. “If I had loved earthly thing Of earthly blithesomeness, I might have been beloved again, And bathed in earthly bliss. “But I have loved ane freakish Fay Of frowardness and sin, With heavenly beauty on the face, And heart of stone within!” PART IIBut word’s gone East, and word’s gone West, ’Mong high and low degree, While it went to the King upon the throne, And ane wrathful man was he. “What!” said the King, “and shall we sit In sackcloth mourning sad, While all mine lieges of the land For ane young quean run mad? “Go, saddle me my milk-white steed, Of true Megaira brode; I will go and see this wondrous dame, And prove her by the Rode. “And if I find her Elfin Queen, Or thing of Fairy kind, I will burn her into ashes small, And sift them on the wind.” The King hath chosen four-score Knights, All busked gallantlye, And he is away to the Moril Glen, As fast as he can dree. And when he came to the Moril Glen, Ae morning fair and clear, This lovely May on horseback rode To hunt the fallow deer. Her palfrey was of snowy hue, A pale unearthly thing, That revelled over hill and dale Like bird upon the wing. Her screen was like a net of gold, That dazzled as it flew; Her mantle was of the rainbow’s red, Her rail of its bonny blue. A golden comb with diamonds bright, Her seemly virgin crown, Shone like the new moon’s lady-light O’er cloud of amber brown. The lightning that shot from her eyne, Flickered like Elfin brand; It was sharper nor the sharpest spear In all Northumberland. The King he wheeled him round about, And calleth to his men, “Yonder she comes, this wierdly Witch, This spirit of the glen! “Come, rank your master up behind, This serpent to belay; I’ll let you hear me put her down, In grand polemic way.” Swift came the maid o’er strath and stron— Nae dantonit dame was she,— Until the King her path withstood In might and majestye. The virgin cast on him a look, With gay and graceful air, As on something below her note, That ought not to have been there. The King, whose belt was like to burst, With speeches most divine, Now felt ane throbbing of the heart, And quaking of the spine. And aye he gasped for his breath, And gaped in dire dismay, And waved his arm, and smote his breast; But word he could not say. The spankie grewis they scoured the dale, The dun deer to restrain; The virgin gave her steed the rein, And followed, might and main. “Go bring her back,” the King he cried; “This reifery must not be. Though you should bind her hands and feet, Go, bring her back to me.” The deer she flew, the garf and grew They followed hard behind; The milk-white palfrey brushed the dew Far fleeter nor the wind. But woe betide the Lords and Knights, That taiglit in the dell! For though with whip and spur they plied, Full far behind they fell. They looked out o’er their left shoulders, To see what they might see, And there the King, in fit of love, Lay spurring on the lea. And, aye, he battered with his feet, And rowted with despair, And pulled the grass up by the roots, And flung it on the air! “What ails, what ails my royal Liege? Such grief I do deplore.” “Oh, I’m bewitched,” the King replied, “And gone forevermore! “Go, bring her back!—go, bring her back!— Go, bring her back to me! For I must either die of love, Or own that dear Ladye!” The deer was slain; the royal train Then closed the virgin round, And then her fair and lily hands Behind her back were bound. But who should bind her winsome feet?— That bred such strife and pain, That sixteen brave and belted Knights Lay gasping on the plain. And when she came before the King, Ane ireful carle was he; Saith he, “Dame, you must be my love, Or burn beneath ane tree.” “No, I can ne’er be love to thee, Nor any lord thou hast; For you are married men each one, And I a maiden chaste. “But here I promise, and I vow By Scotland’s King and Crown, Who first a widower shall prove, Shall claim me as his own.” The King hath mounted his milk-white steed,— One word he said not more,— And he is away from the Moril Glen, As ne’er rode King before. And every Lord and every Knight Made off his several way, All galloping as they had been mad, Withoutten stop or stay. But there was never such dole and pain In any land befel; For there is wickedness in man, That grieveth me to tell. There was one eye, and one alone, Beheld the deeds were done; But the lovely Queen of Fair Scotland Ne’er saw the morning sun. And seventy-seven wedded dames, As fair as e’er were born, The very pride of all the land, Were dead before the morn. PART IIIAnd the bonny May of the Moril Glen Is weeping in despair, For she saw the hills of fair Scotland, Could be her home nae mair. Then there were chariots came o’er night, As silent and as soon As shadow of ane little cloud In the wan light of the moon. Some said they came out of the rock, And some out of the sea; And some said they were sent from Hell To bring that fair Ladye. The fairest flower of mortal frame Passed from the Moril Glen; And ne’er may such a deadly eye Shine amongst Christian men! In seven chariots, gilded bright, The train went o’er the fell, All wrapt within ane shower of hail; Whither no man could tell. But there was a Ship in the Firth of Forth, The like ne’er sailed the faeme, For no man of her country knew, Her colours, or her name. Her mast was made of beaten gold, Her sails of the silken twine, And a thousand pennons streamed behind, And trembled o’er the brine. As she lay mirrored in the main, It was a comely view, So many rainbows round her played With every breeze that blew. And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud, Right over ford and fen, And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen From eyes of sinful men. And the hailstone shroud it wheeled and rowed, As wan as death unshriven, Like dead cloth of ane Angel grim, Or winding sheet of Heaven. It was a fearsome sight to see Toil through the morning grey, And whenever it reached the comely Ship, She set sail and away. She set her sail before the gale, As it began to sing, And she heaved and rocked down the tide, Unlike an earthly thing. The dolphins fled out of her way Into the creeks of Fife, And the blackguard seals, they yowlit for dread, And swam for death and life. But aye the Ship, the bonny Ship Out o’er the green wave flew, Swift as the solan on the wing, Or terrified sea-mew. No billow breasted on her prow, Nor levelled on the lee; She seemed to sail upon the air, And never touch the sea. And away, and away went the bonny Ship, Which man never more did see; But whether she went to Heaven or Hell, Was ne’er made known to me. The Ettrick Shepherd. (Condensed) She has knotted the keys upon a string, And with her she has them taen, She has cast them o’er her left shoulder, And to the gate she is gane. She tripped out, she tripped in, She tript into the yard; But it was more for the King’s sake, Than for the Queen’s regard. It fell out on a day, the King Brought the Queen with him home; And all the Lords in our country, To welcome them did come. “Oh welcome, Father!” the Lady cries, “Unto your halls and bowers; And so are you, my Stepmother, For all that is here is yours.” A Lord said, wondering while she spake, “This Princess of the North Surpasses all of female kind In beauty and in worth.” The envious Queen replied, “At least, You might have excepted me: In a few hours I will her bring Down to a low degree. “I will her liken to a Laidley Worm, That warps about the stone, And not till Childy Wynd comes back, Shall she again be won.” PART IIThe Princess stood at the bower-door, Laughing, who could her blame? But e’er the next day’s sun went down, A long Worm she became. For seven miles East, and seven miles West, And seven miles North, and South, No blade of grass or corn could grow, So venomous was her mouth. The milk of seven stately cows— It was costly her to keep— Was brought her daily, which she drank Before she went to sleep. At this day may be seen the cave Which held her folded up, And the stone trough—the very same— Out of which she did sup. Word went East, and word went West, And word is gone over the sea, That a Laidley Worm in Spindleston-Heughs, Would ruin the North Countrie. Word went East, and word went West, And over the sea did go; The Child of Wynd got wit of it, Which filled his heart with woe. He called straight his merry men all, They thirty were and three: “I wish I were at Spindleston, This desperate Worm to see. “We have no time now here to waste, Hence quickly let us sail: My only sister Margaret Something, I fear, doth ail.” They built a ship without delay, With masts of the Rowan-Tree, With fluttering sails of silk so fine, And set her on the sea. They went aboard; the wind with speed, Blew them along the deep; At length they spied an huge square tower On a rock high and steep. The sea was smooth, the weather clear; When they approached nigher, King Ida’s Castle they well knew, And the banks of Bambroughshire. PART IIIThe Queen looked out at her bower-window, To see what she could see; There she espied a gallant ship Sailing upon the sea. When she beheld the silken sails, Full glancing in the sun, To sink the ship she sent away Her Witch Wives every one. Their spells were vain; the Hags returned To the Queen in sorrowful mood, Crying, that Witches have no power Where there is Rowan-Tree wood. Her last effort, she sent a boat, Which in the haven lay, With armed men to board the ship, But they were driven away. The Worm leapt up, the Worm leapt down, She plaited round the stane; And aye, as the ship came to the land, She banged it off again. The Child then ran out of her reach The ship on Budle-sand; And jumping into the shallow sea, Securely got to land. And now he drew his berry-brown sword, And laid it on her head; And swore, if she did harm to him, That he would strike her dead. “Oh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow, And give me kisses three; For though I am a poisonous Worm, No hurt I will do to thee. “Oh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow, And give me kisses three; If I am not won e’er the sun go down, Won I shall never be.” He quitted his sword, he bent his bow, He gave her kisses three: She crept into a hole a Worm, But stept out a Lady. No clothing had this Lady fine, To keep her from the cold; He took his mantle from him about, And round her did it fold. He has taken his mantle from him about, And it he wrapt her in, And they are up to Bambrough Castle, As fast as they can win. PART IVHis absence and her serpent-shape, The King had long deplored; He now rejoiced to see them both Again to him restored. The Queen they wanted, whom they found All pale and sore afraid, Because she knew her power must yield To Childy Wynd’s, who said:— “Woe be to thee, thou wicked Witch, An ill death mayest thou dee; As thou my sister hast likened, So likened shalt thou be. “I will turn you into a Toad, That on the ground doth wend; And won, won, shalt thou never be, Till this world hath an end.” Now on the sand near Ida’s tower, She crawls a loathsome Toad, And venom spits on every maid She meets upon her road. The virgins all of Bambrough town, Will swear that they have seen This spiteful Toad, of monstrous size, Whilst walking they have been. All folks believe within the shire, This story to be true; And they all run to Spindleston, The cave and trough to view. This fact now Duncan Frasier, Of Cheviot, sings in rhyme, Lest Bambroughshire men should forget Some part of it in time.
|
|
