GERTRUDE _lying on a couch_; LILIA _seated beside her, with the
girl's hand in both hers_.
_Lady Gertrude_.
How kind of you to come! And you will stay
And be my beautiful nurse till I grow well?
I am better since you came. You look so sweet,
It brings all summer back into my heart.
_Lilia_.
I am very glad to come. Indeed, I felt
No one could nurse you quite so well as I.
_Lady Gertrude_.
How kind of you! Do call me sweet names now;
And put your white cool hands upon my head;
And let me lie and look in your great eyes:
'Twill do me good; your very eyes are healing.
_Lilia_.
I must not let you talk too much, dear child.
_Lady Gertrude_.
Well, as I cannot have my music-lesson,
And must not speak much, will you sing to me?
Sing that strange ballad you sang once before;
'Twill keep me quiet.
_Lilia_.
What was it, child?
_Lady Gertrude_.
It was
Something about a race--Death and a lady--
_Lilia_.
Oh! I remember. I would rather sing
Some other, though.
_Lady Gertrude_.
No, no, I want that one.
Its ghost walks up and down inside my head,
But won't stand long enough to show itself.
You must talk Latin to it--sing it away,
Or when I'm ill, 'twill haunt me.
_Lilia_.
Well, I'll sing it.
SONG.
Death and a lady rode in the wind,
In a starry midnight pale;
Death on a bony horse behind,
With no footfall upon the gale.
The lady sat a wild-eyed steed;
Eastward he tore to the morn.
But ever the sense of a noiseless speed,
And the sound of reaping corn!
All the night through, the headlong race
Sped to the morning gray;
The dew gleamed cold on her cold white face--
From Death or the morning? say.
Her steed's wide knees began to shake,
As he flung the road behind;
The lady sat still, but her heart did quake,
And a cold breath came down the wind.
When, Lo! a fleet bay horse beside,
With a silver mane and tail;
A knight, bareheaded, the horse did ride,
With never a coat of mail.
He never lifted his hand to Death,
And he never couched a spear;
But the lady felt another breath,
And a voice was in her ear.
He looked her weary eyes through and through,
With his eyes so strong in faith:
Her bridle-hand the lady drew,
And she turned and laughed at Death.
And away through the mist of the morning gray,
The spectre and horse rode wide;
The dawn came up the old bright way,
And the lady never died.
_Lord Seaford_
(_who has entered during the song_).
Delightful! Why, my little pining Gertrude,
With such charm-music you will soon be well.
Madam, I know not how to speak the thanks
I owe you for your kindness to my daughter:
She looks as different from yesterday
As sunrise from a fog.
_Lilia_.
I am but too happy
To be of use to one I love so much.