"He stops to speak, and.he stills his horse,
Sister Helen;
But his words are drowned in the wind's course."
"Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?_)
"Oh he says that Keith of Ewern's cry,
Sister Helen,
Is ever to see you ere he die."
"In all that his soul sees, there am I,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother y
The souls one sight, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"He sends a ring and a broken coin,
Sister Helen,
And bids you mind the banks of Boyne."
"What else he broke will he ever join,
Little brother?"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"He yields you these and craves full fain,
Sister Helen,
You pardon him in his mortal pain."
"What else he took will he give again,
Little brother?"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"He calls your name in an agony,
Sister Helen,
That even dead Love must weep to see."
"Hate, born of Love, is blind as he,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast,
Sister Helen,
For I know the white hair on the blast."
"The short short hour will soon be past,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother,
Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"He looks at me and he tries to speak,
Sister Helen,
But oh! his voice is sad and weak!"
"What here should the mighty Baron seek,
Little brother?"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?_)
"Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,
Sister Helen,
The body dies but the soul shall live."
"Fire shall forgive me as I forgive,
Little brother!"
(_O Mothery Mary Mother,
As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,
Sister Helen,
To save his dear sons soul alive.''
"Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Alas y alas y between Hell and Heaven!_)
"He cries to you, kneeling in the road,
Sister Helen,
To go with him for the love of God!"
"The way is long to his son's abode,
Little brother."
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
The way is long9 between Hell and Heaven!_)
"A lady's here, by a dark steed brought,
Sister Helen,
So darkly clad, I saw her not."
"See her now or never see aught,
Little brother!"
(+O Mothery Mary Mother,
What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?_)
"Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,
Sister Helen,
On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair."
"Blest hour of my power and her despair,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Hour blest and bannd, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow,
Sister Helen,
'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago."
"One morn for pride and three days for woe,
Little brother."
(_O Mothery Mary Mother
Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head,
Sister Helen;
With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed."
"What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed,
Little brother?"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother y
What strain but death's, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,
Sister Helen,--
She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon."
"Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother,
Her woe s dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"They've caught her to Westholm's saddle-bow,
Sister Helen,
And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow."
"Let it turn whiter than winter snow,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,
Sister Helen!
More loud than the vesper-chime it fell."
"No vesper-chime, but a dying-knell,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother,
His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Alas! but I fear the heavy sound,
Sister Helen;
Is it in the sky or in the ground?"
"Say, have they turned their horses round,
Little brother?"
(_O Mother9 Mary Mother,
What would she more, between Hell and Heaven?_)
"They have raised the old man from his knee,
Sister Helen,
And they ride in silence hastily."
"More fast the naked soul doth flee,
Little brother!"
(_O Mothery Mary Mother,
The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Flank to flank are the three steeds gone,
Sister Helen,
But the lady's dark steed goes alone."
"And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath flown,
Little brother."
_(O Mother y Mary Mother,
The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill,
Sister Helen,
And weary sad they look by the hill."
"But he and I are sadder still,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother, Mary Mother,
Most sad of ally between Hell and Heaven!_)
"See, see, the wax has dropped from its place,
Sister Helen,
And the flames are winning up apace!"
"Yet here they burn but for a space,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother,
Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!_)
"Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd,
Sister Helen?
Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?"
"A soul that's lost as mine is lost,
Little brother!"
(_O Mother y Mary Mother,
Lost y lost y all lost y between Hell and Heaven!)
----D. G. Rossetti.
THE BLACKBIRD'S SONG
|Magdalen at Michael's gate
Tirled at the pin;
On Joseph's thorn, sang the blackbird,
"Let her in! let her in!"
"Hast thou seen the wounds?" said Michael,
"Know'st thou thy sin?"
"It is evening, evening," sang the blackbird,
"Let her in! let her in!"
"Yes I have seen the wounds,
And I know my sin."
"She knows it well, well, well," sang the
blackbird,
"Let her in! let her in!"
"Thou bringest no offerings," said Michael,
"Nought save sin.''
And the blackbird sang, "She is sorry, sorry,
sorry,
Let her in! let her in!"
When he had sung himself to sleep,
And night did begin,
One came and opened Michael's gate,
And Magdalen went in.
----H. Kingsley.
MAIDEN SONG
|Long ago and long ago,
And long ago still,
There dwelt three merry maidens
Upon a distant hill.
One was tall Meggan,
And one was dainty May,
But one was fair Margaret,
More fair than I can say,
Long ago and long ago.
When Meggan plucked the thorny rose,
And when May pulled the brier,
Half the birds would swoop to see,
Half the beasts draw nigher;
Half the fishes of the streams
Would dart up to admire:
And when Margaret plucked a flag-flower,
Or poppy hot aflame,
All the beasts, and all the birds,
And all the fishes came
To her hand more soft than snow.
Strawberry leaves and May-dew
In brisk morning air,
Strawberry leaves and May-dew
Make maidens fair.
"I go for strawberry leaves,"
Meggan said one day:
"Fair Margaret can bide at home,
But you come with me, May;
Up the hill and down the hill,
Along the winding way
You and I are used to go."
So these two fair sisters
Went with innocent will
Up the hill and down again,
And round the homestead hill:
While the fairest sat at home,
Margaret like a queen,
Like a blush-rose, like the moon
In her heavenly sheen,
Fragrant-breathed as milky cow
Or field of blossoming bean,
Graceful as an ivy bough
Born to cling and lean;
Thus she sat to sing and sew.
When she raised her lustrous eyes
A beast peeped at the door;
When she downward cast her eyes
A fish gasped on the floor;
When she turned away her eyes
A bird perched on the sill,
Warbling out its heart of love,
Warbling warbling still,
With pathetic pleadings low.
Light-foot May with Meggan
Sought the choicest spot,
Clothed with thyme-alternate grass:
Then, while day waxed hot,
Sat at ease to play and rest,
A gracious rest and play;
The loveliest maidens near or far,
When Margaret was away,
Who sat at home to sing and sew.
Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks,
Wind-play tossed their hair,
Creeping things among the grass
Stroked them here and there;
Meggan piped a merry note,
A fitful wayward lay,
While shrill as birds on topmost twig
Piped merry May;
Honey-smooth the double flow.
Sped a herdsman from the vale,
Mounting like a flame,
All on fire to hear and see,
With floating locks he came.
Looked neither north nor south,
Neither east nor west,
But sat him down at Meggan's feet
As love-bird on his nest,
And wooed her with a silent awe,
With trouble not expressed;
She sang the tears into his eyes,
The heart out of his breast:
So he loved her, listening so.
She sang the heart out of his breast,
The words out of his tongue;
Hand and foot and pulse he paused
Till her song was sung.
Then he spoke up from his place
Simple words and true:
"Scanty goods have I to give,
Scanty skill to woo;
But I have a will to work,
And a heart for you:
Bid me stay or bid me go."
Then Meggan mused within herself:
"Better be first with him,
Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits,
Who shines my brightness dim,
For ever second where she sits,
However fair I be.
I will be lady of his love,
And he shall worship me;
I will be lady of his herds
And stoop to his degree,
At home where kids and fatlings grow."
Goof^
Sped a shepherd from the height
Headlong down to look,
(White lambs followed, lured by love
Of their shepherd's crook):
He turned neither east nor west,
Neither north nor south,
But knelt right down to May, for love
Of her sweet-singing mouth;
Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks
In parching hill-side drouth;
Forgot himself for weal or woe.
Trilled her song and swelled her song
With maiden coy caprice
In a labyrinth of throbs,
Pauses, cadences;
Clear-noted as a dropping brook,
Soft-noted like the bees,
Wild-noted as the shivering wind
Forlorn through forest trees:
Love-noted like the wood-pigeon
Who hides herself for love,
Yet cannot keep her secret safe,
But coos and coos thereof:
Thus the notes rang loud or low.
He hung breathless on her breath;
Speechless, who listened well;
Could not speak or think or wish
Till silence broke the spell.
Then he spoke, and spread his hands,
Pointing here and there:
"See my sheep and see the lambs,
Twin lambs which they bear.
And myself I offer you,
All my flocks and care,
Your sweet song hath moved me so."
In her fluttered heart young May
Mused a dubious while,
"If he loves me as he says"--
Her lips curved with a smile:
"Where Margaret shines like the sun
I shine but like a moon;
If sister Meggan makes her choice
I can make mine as soon;
At cockcrow we were sister-maids,
We may be brides at noon."
Said Meggan, "Yes;" May said not "No."
Fair Margaret stayed alone at home,
Awhile she sang her song,
Awhile sat silent, then she thought:
"My sisters loiter long."
That sultry noon had waned away,
Shadows had waxen great:
"Surely," she thought within herself,
"My sisters loiter late!"
She rose, and peered out at the door,
With patient heart to wait,
And heard a distant nightingale
Complaining of its mate;
Then down the garden slope she walked,
Down to the garden gate,
Leaned on the rail and waited so.
The slope was lightened by her eyes
Like summer lightning fair,
Like rising of the haloed moon
Lightened her glimmering hair,
While her face lightened like the sun
Whose dawn is rosy white.
Thus crowned with maiden majesty
She peered into the night,
Looked up the hill and down the hill,
To left hand and to right,
Flashing like fire-flies to and fro.
Waiting thus in weariness
She marked the nightingale
Telling, if any one would heed,
Its old complaining tale.
Then lifted she her voice and sang,
Answering the bird:
Then lifted she her voice and sang,
Such notes were never heard
From any bird when Spring's in blow.
The king of all that country,
Coursing far, coursing near,
Curbed his amber-bitted steed
Coursed amain to hear;
All his princes in his train,
Squire, and knight, and peer,
With his crown upon his head,
His sceptre in his hand,
Down he fell at Margaret's knees
Lord king of all that land,
To her highness bending low.
Every beast and bird and fish,
Came mustering to the sound,
Every man and every maid
From miles of country round:
Meggan on her herdsman's arm,
With her shepherd, May,
Flocks and herds trooped at their heels
Along the hill-side way;
No foot too feeble for the ascent,
Not any head too grey;
Some were swift, and none were slow.
So Margaret sang her sisters home
In their marriage mirth;
Sang free birds out of the sky,
Beasts along the earth,
Sang up fishes of the deep--
All breathing things that move
Sang from far and sang from near
To her lovely love;
Sang together friend and foe;
Sang a golden-bearded king
Straightway to her feet,
Sang him silent where he knelt
In eager anguish sweet.
But when the clear voice died away,
When longest echoes died,
He stood up like a royal man
And claimed her for his bride.
So three maids were wooed and won
In a brief May-tide,
Long ago and long ago.
----Christina Rossetti.
LOVE FROM THE NORTH
|I had a love in soft south land,
Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my lightest breath,
And never dared to say me nay.
He saddened if my cheer was sad,
But gay he grew if I was gay;
We never differed on a hair,
My yes his yes, my nay his nay.
The wedding hour was come, the aisles
Were flushed with sun and flowers that day;
I pacing balanced in my thoughts:
"It's quite too late to think of nay."--
My bridegroom answered in his turn,
Myself had almost answered "Yea
When through the flashing nave I heard
A struggle and resounding "Nay,"
Bridesmaids and bridegroom shrank in fear,
But I stood high who stood at bay:
"And if I answer yea, fair sir,
What man art thou to bar with nay?"
He was a strong man from the north,
Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey:
"Put yea by for another time
In which I will not say thee nay."
He took me in his strong white arms,
He bore me on his horse away
O'er crag, morass, and hair-breadth pass,
But never asked me yea or nay.
He made me fast with book and bell,
With links of love he makes me stay;
Till now I've neither heart nor power
Nor will nor wish to say him nay.
----Christina Rossetti.
MAUDE CLARE
[Illustration: 0300]
|Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
Maude Clare was like a queen.
"Son Thomas," his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
"May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years;
"Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell."
6
My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.
"Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
Have brought my gift," she said:
"To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.
"Here's my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:
"Here's my half of the faded leaves
We plucked from budding bough,
With feet among the lily leaves,--
The lilies are budding now."
He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place;
"Lady," he said,--"Maude Clare," he said,--
"Maude Clare:"--and hid his face.
She turn'd to Nell: "My Lady Nell,
I have a gift for you;
Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone,
Or, were it flowers, the dew.
"Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof."
"And what you leave," said Nell, "I'll take,
And what you spurn, I'll wear;
For he's my lord for better and worse,
And him I love, Maude Clare.
"Yea, though you re taller by the head,
More wise, and much more fair;
I'll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all, Maude Clare."
----Christina Rossetti.
[Illustration: 0302]
THE SEVEN FIDDLERS
|A blue robe on their shoulder,
And an ivory bow in hand,
Seven fiddlers came with their fiddles
A-fiddling through the land,
And they fiddled a tune on their fiddles
That none could understand.
For none who heard their fiddling
Might keep his ten toes still,
E en the cripple threw down his crutches,
And danced against his will:
Young and old they all fell a-dancing,
While the fiddlers fiddled their fill.
They fiddled down to the ferry--
The ferry by Severn-side,
And they stept aboard the ferry,
None else to row or guide,
And deftly steered the pilot,
And stoutly the oars they plied.
Then suddenly in the mid-channel
These fiddlers ceased to row,
And the pilot spake to his fellows
In a tongue that none may know:
"Let us home to our fathers and brothers,
And the maidens we love below."
Then the fiddlers seized their fiddles,
And sang to their fiddles a song:
"We are coming, coming, oh brothers,
To the home we have left so long,
For the world still loves the fiddler,
And the fiddler's tune is strong."
Then they stept from out the ferry
Into the Severn-sea,
Down into the depths of the waters
Where the homes of the fiddlers be,
And the ferry-boat drifted slowly
Forth to the ocean free!
But where those jolly fiddlers
Walked down into the deep,
The ripples are never quiet,
But for ever dance and leap,
Though the Severn-sea be silent,
And the winds be all asleep.
----Sebastian Evans.
[Illustration: 0304]
SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR
|To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! the clarion's
note is high;
To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! the big drum
makes reply:
Ere this hath Lucas marched with his gallant
cavaliers,
And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows
fainter on our ears.
To horse, to horse, Sir Nicholas! White Guy is
at the door,
And the vulture whets his beak o'er the field of
Marston Moor.
Up rose the Lady Alice from her brief and
broken prayer,
And she brought a silken standard down the
narrow turret stair.
Oh, many were the tears that those radiant eyes
had shed,
As she worked the bright word "Glory"in the
gay and glancing thread;
And mournful was the smile which o'er those
beauteous features ran,
As she said, "It is your lady's gift; unfurl it in
the van."
"It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best
and boldest ride,
Through the steel-clad files of Skippon, and the
black dragoons of Pride;
The recreant soul of Fairfax will feel a sicklier
qualm,
And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder
psalm,
When they see my lady's gew-gaw flaunt
bravely on their wing,
And hear her loyal soldier's shout, For God and
for the King!
'Tis noon; the ranks are broken along the
royal line;
They fly, the braggarts of the Court, the bullies
of the Rhine:
Stout Langley's cheer is heard no more, and
Astley's helm is down,
And Rupert sheathes his rapier with a curse and
with a frown;
And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in
the flight,
"The German boar had better far have supped
in York to-night.''
The Knight is all alone, his steel cap cleft in
twain,
His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many
a gory stain;
Yet still he waves the standard, and cries amid
the rout--
"For Church and King, fair gentlemen, spur
on and fight it out!"
And now he wards a Roundhead's pike, and
now he hums a stave,
And here he quotes a stage-play, and there he
fells a knave.
Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! thou hast
no thought of fear;
Good speed to thee, Sir Nicholas! but fearful
odds are here.
The traitors ring thee round, and with every
blow and thrust,
"Down, down," they cry, "with Belial, down
with him to the dust!"
"I would," quoth grim old Oliver, "that
Belial's trusty sword
This day were doing battle for the Saints and
for the Lord!"--
The lady Alice sits with her maidens in her
bower;
The grey-haired warden watches on the castle's
highest tower.--
"What news, what news, old Anthony?"--
"The field is lost and won;
The ranks of war are melting as the mists
beneath the sun;
And a wounded man speeds hither,--I am old
and cannot see,
Or sure I am that sturdy step my master's step
should be!
"I bring thee back the standard from as rude
and rough a fray,
As e'er was proof of soldier's thews, or theme
for minstrel's lay.
Bid Hubert fetch the silver bowl, and liquor
quantum stiff.;
I'll make a shift to drain it, ere I part with boot
and buff;
Though Guy through many a gaping wound is
breathing out his life,
And I come to thee a landless man, my fond
and faithful wife!
"Sweet, we will fill our money-bags, and freight
a ship for France,
And mourn in merry Paris for this poor realm's
mischance;
Or, if the worst betide me, why, better axe or
rope,
Than life with Lenthal for a king, and Peters
for a pope!
Alas, alas, my gallant Guy!--out on the crop-
eared boor,
That sent me with my standard on foot from
Marston Moor!"
----W. M. Praed.