"What makes you so late at the tryst,
What caused you so long to be?
I have waited a weary time
For the hour you promised me."
"Oh, glad were I here by your side,
Full many an hour ago,
But for what there passed on the road
All so mournfully and so slow."
"And what have you met on the road
That kept you so long and so late?"
"O full many an hour has gone
Since I left my father's gate.
"As I hastened on in the gloom,
By the road to you tonight,
I passed the corpse of a young maid
All clad in a shroud of white."
"And was she some friend once cherished,
Or was she a sister dead,
That you left your own true lover
Till the trysting hour had sped?"
"I could not see who it might be,
Her face was hidden away,
But I had to turn and follow
Wherever her resting lay."
"And did it go up by the town,
Or went it down by the lake?
I know there are but two church yards
Where a corpse its rest may take."
"They did not go by the town,
Nor by the lake stayed their feet,
But buried the corpse all silently
Where the four cross roads meet."
"And was it so strange a sight
That you should go like a child
Thus to leave me to wait, forgotten,
By a passing sight beguiled?"
"Oh, I heard them whisper my name,
Each mourner that passed by me;
And I had to follow their path,
Though their faces I could not see."
"And right well I would like to know
Who this fair young maid might be,
So take my hand, my own true love,
And hasten along with me."
He did not go down by the lake
He did not go by the town,
But carried her to the four cross roads,
And there he did set her down.
"Now I see no track of a foot,
I see no mark of a spade,
And I know well in this white road
There never a grave was made."
He took her hand in his right hand,
And he led her to town away,
And there he questioned the old priest,
Did he bury a maid that day.
He took her hand in his right hand,
Down to the church by the lake,
And there he questioned a young priest,
If a maiden her life did take.
But there was no tale of death
In all the parish round,
And neither had heard of a maid
Thus put in unholy ground.
He loosed her hand from his hand,
And turned on his heel away.
"I know you are false," he said,
"From the lie you told today."
And she said, "Oh, what evil things
Did tonight my senses take?"
She knelt down by the water side
And wept as her heart would break.
And she said, "Oh, what fairy sight
Was it thus my grief to see!
I'll sleep well 'neath the still water,
Since my love has turned on me."
* * * * *
And her love he went to the north,
And far to the south went he,
But still he heard her distant voice
Call, weeping so bitterly.
He could not rest in the daytime,
He could not sleep in the night,
Hastened back to the old road,
With the trysting-place in sight.
What first he heard was his love's name,
And keening both loud and long;
What first he saw was his love's face
At the head of a mourning throng.
And white she was as the dead are,
And never a move made she,
But passed him by on her black pall,
Still sleeping so peacefully.
And cold she was as the dead are,
And never a word she spake,
When they said, "Unholy is her grave,
Since she her life did take."
Silent she was, as the dead are,
And never a cry she made
When there came, more sad than the keening,
The ring of a digging spade.
No rest they gave in the town church,
No grave by the lake so sweet,
But buried her in unholy ground,
Where the four cross roads do meet.