"Ho!" cried the baron, "I watched him then, As I stood on the opposite bank afeared; Of a hundred men I would ken him again, Though he were to doff his dun-brown beard."
A year has pa.s.sed at the Castle of Weir, Yet no one has claimed the golden don; Most wonderful thing to tell or to hear!
Was he of flesh and blood and bone?
Though golden n.o.bles might not him wile, Was there not something more benign?
Was not for him a maiden"s smile?
Was not that maiden Tomasine?
V.
The ladye sat within her summer bower Alone, deep musing, in the still greenwood; Sadly and slowly pa.s.sed the evening hour, Sad and sorrowful was her weary mood, For she had seen, beneath a shadowing tree, All fast asleep a beauteous rural swain, Whom she had often sighed again to see, But never yet had chanced to see again;-- So beautiful that, if the time had been In a long mythic age now past and gone, She might have deemed that she had haply seen The all-divine Latona"s fair-haired son Come down upon our earth to pa.s.s a day Among the daughters fair of earth-born men, And had put on a suit of sober grey, To appear unto them as a rural swain.
With features all so sweet in harmony, You might have feigned they breathed a music mild, With lire so peachy, fit to charm the eye, And lips right sure to conquer when they smiled, All seen through locks of l.u.s.trous auburn hair, Which wanton fairies had so gaily thrown To cover o"er a face so wondrous fair, Lest Dian might reclaim him as her own.
In the still moonlit hour there steals along, And falls upon her roused and listening ear The notes of some night-wandering minstrel"s song, And oh! so sweet and sad it was to hear.
You might have deemed it came from teylin sweet, Touched by some gentle fairy"s cunning hand, To tell us of those joys that we shall meet In some far distant and far happier land; And oft at night, as time still pa.s.sed away, That hopeless song throughout the greenwood came, And oft she heard repeated in the lay The well-known sound of her own maiden name; And often did she wish, and often sighed, That bashful minstrel for once more to see, To know if he were him she had espied All fast asleep beneath the greenwood tree.
VI.
Alace! and alace! for that false pride In the hearts of those of high degree, And that gentle love should be decried By its n.o.blest champion, Chivalrie.
If the baron shall hear a whispered word Of that fond lover"s sweet minstrelsie, That love-lorn heart and his angry sword May some night better acquainted be.
Woe! woe! to the viper"s envenomed tongue That obeys the hest of a coward"s heart, Who tries to avenge his fancied wrong By getting another to act his part.
Sir Hubert has lisped in the baron"s ear, When drinking wine at the evening hour, That a minstrel clown met his daughter dear At night in her lonely greenwood bower.
"Hush! hush! Sir Hubert, thy words are fires; Elves are about us that hear and see, Who may tell to the ghost of my n.o.ble sires Of a d.a.m.ned blot on our pedigree."
And the baron frowned with darkened brow, And by the bones of his fathers swore That from that night this minstrel theou, To his daughter would warble his love no more.
VII.
That night the minstrel sang in softer flow, Waxing and waning soft and softer still, Like autumn"s night winds breathing loun and low, Or evening murmur of the wimpling rill; But there was heard that night no farewell strain, As in foretime there ever used to be-- A stop! and then no more was heard again That bashful lover"s hapless minstrelsie.
Next morn the maid, with purpose to enjoy The forest flowers and wild birds" early song, Unto the greenwood went; and to employ Her weary musing as she went along, Love"s magic memory from its depths upbrought The notes that ever still so sweetly hung About her heart; and as she gaily thought, She sung them o"er as she had heard them sung.
Onward she moved: her dreamy, listless eye Had leant upon a fragrant wild-rose bed, And, glancing farther, what does she descry?
Stretched stiff and b.l.o.o.d.y, his sad spirit fled, Yea, him whom when asleep she once had seen, And had so often wished again to see, Now dead and cold "mong the leaves so green, And all beneath the well-known greenwood tree.
"Good day, my ladye," then some one said-- It was Sir Hubert there close behind; "He will sing no more, or I am belied, For the reason, I wot, that he wanteth wind."
Up came the baron in angry vein; He casts his eye on the body there; He scans the features again and again With a look of doubt and shudder of fear; His hands he wrings with a groan of pain, He rolls his eyeb.a.l.l.s with gesture wild-- "Great G.o.d! by a villain"s counsel I"ve slain The youth who saved my darling child!"
Among yon h.o.a.ry elms that o"er him grow A harp is hung to catch the evening gale, That sings to him in accents soft and low, And soothes the maiden with its sorrowful wail, Who, as she sits within her greenwood bower, And listens to the teylin"s solemn strain, Bethinks her, in her tears, of every hour That gentle youth had sung to her in vain.
VIII.
THE ROMAUNT OF ST. MARY"S WYND.
I.
Of Scotland"s cities, still the rarest Is ancient Edinburgh town; And of her ladies, still the fairest There you see walk up and down: Be they gay, or be they gayless, There they beck and there they bow, From the Castle to the Palace, In farthingale and furbelow.
Says Lady Jane to Lady Janet, "Thy gown, I vow, is stiff and grand; Though there were feint a body in it, Still I trow that it would stand."
And Lady Janet makes rejoinder: "Thy boddice, madam, is sae tend, The bonny back may crack asunder, But, by my faith, it winna bend."
But few knew one both fairer, kinder, The fair maid of St. Mary"s Wynd; Among the great you will not find her, For she was of the humbler kind.
For her minnie spinning, plodding, She wore no ribbons to her shune, No mob-cap on her head nid-nodding, But aye the linsey-woolsey gown.
No Lady Jane in silks and laces, How fair soever she might be, Could match the face--the nature"s graces Of this poor, humble Marjorie: Her eyes they were baith mirk and merry, Her lire was as the lily fair, Her lips were redder than the cherry, And flaxen was her glossy hair.
Ye bucks who wear the coats silk-braided, With satin ribbons at your knee, And cambric ruffles starched and plaited, With c.o.c.ked bonnets all ajee, Who walk with mounted canes at even, Up and down so jauntilie, Ye would have given a blink of heaven For one sweet smile from Marjorie.
But Marjory"s care was aye her minnie, And day by day she sat and span; Nor did she think it aught but sin aye, To bear the stare of gentleman: She doated on her own dear Willie, For dear to her fond heart was he, Who, though his sire was poor, yet still he Was far above the low degree.
It was aye said his father"s father Did claim some Spanish pedigree, Which many well believed, the rather That he was not of our countrie: His skin was brown as nut of hazel, His eye was black as Scottish sloe, And all so bright that it would dazzle The eye that looked that eye into.
There came into his head a notion, Which wrought and wrought within his brain, That he would cross th" Atlantic Ocean, And seek the land of Spanish Main; And there ama.s.s a routh of treasure, And then come back with bosom leal To his own Marjory, and release her From rock and reel and spinning wheel.
Up spake the minnie--it did not please her That he should "gae sae far frae hame:"
"Thou"lt reap less in yon Abiezer Than thou wilt glean in this Ephraim; For there"s a proverb faileth never; A lintie safe within the hand, Though lean and lank, is better ever Than is a fat finch on the wand."
Then Marjory, with eye so tearful, Whispered in dark Willie"s ear, "Thou wilt not go and leave me careful, Friendless, lanely, starving here; My minnie G.o.d hath gien a warning, And I can do nae mair than spin, And slowly, slowly comes the earning That with my wheel I daily win."
"Oh fear not, Marjory dear--content ye, Blackfriar John hath to me sworn, That man of G.o.d will kindly tent ye Until that I again return; And he has promised fair to write me Of how ye live and prosper twain, And I will faithfully requite ye With my true love to you again."
II.
Dark Willie took his sad departure, And left at home his Marjory dear To doubt and fear from every quarter, Weep--weeping sadly on the pier; And o"er the sea, all dangers scorning, And o"er the sea he boldly sailed, Until upon the fortieth morning The promised land at length he hailed.
Now! thou one of the fateful sisters That spins for man the silver thread, Spin one of gold that glints and glisters For one who stands in meikle need; Spin it quick and spin it finely, Till Willie"s golden fortune"s made, And send him back to Marjory kindly, Who spins at home for daily bread.
There was a rich old Spanish senor, Who bore dark Willie"s Spanish name, And came to feel the kindly tenor Of plighted friendship"s sacred claim: He gave his right hand to dark Willie, With shares of a great companie, Which sent forth goods far o"er the billow, In ships that sailed on every sea.
Don Pedro had an only daughter, The Donna Clara, pa.s.sing fair, Who, when her sire took his departure, Would be her father"s only heir: Her eyes, so like two sterns of even, Shining the murky clouds among, And black her ringlets as the raven, That o"er her marble shoulders hung.
Oh Willie! Willie! have thou care, man!
And give unto thine heart a stay, For there are witcheries working there, man, May steal that heart of thine away.
No need! to him blue eyes are glowing, To him most beautiful of all, No need! for flaxen hair is flowing To keep his loving heart in thrall.
III.
A year had pa.s.sed, and he had written Of loving letters more than one, The while gold pieces still remitting All to holy Blackfriar John; Yet still no answer had he gotten; And as the days still pa.s.sed away, He fell to musing, and deep thought on What had caused the strange delay.
What now to him those golden pieces That he so fastly now could earn?
Ah, love like his gives no releases, However Clara"s eyes might yearn; He wandered hither, wandered thither, By sad forebodings nightly tossed; He wandered now, he wandered ever, In mournful musing sadly lost.
But time would tell: there came a letter That filled his soul with dire dismay, And told him his dark fears" abettor, His Marjory"s health had flown away: Even as the clay her cheek was paling, Her azure eyes were waxing dim, Her hair unkemp"t, and loose, and trailing, And all for hopeless love of him.
Sad harbinger of things to harrow, Another came, ah! soon a day, To tell him his dear winsome marrow From this sad world had pa.s.sed away.