Slowly Rena raised the cushion, with her sweet eyes shining clear,
Lightly tossed the fairy bobbins, half in gladness, half in fear.
Ah! not vain had been her watching as the lovely lady wrought;
All the magic of her fingers her own cunning hand had caught!
Many a day above the cushion Rena’s peerless head was bent,
And through many a solemn night she labored on with sweet intent.
For, mayhap, the mystic marvels that she wove might bring her gold—
A fair dowry fit to match the pride of Hildebrand the Bold!
Then she braided up her long hair, and put on her russet gown,
And with wicker basket laden passed she swiftly through the town,
To the palace where Queen Ildegar, with dames of high degree,
In a lofty oriel window sat, the beauteous morn to see.
In the door-way she stood meekly, till the queen said, “Maiden fair,
What have you in yonder basket that you carry with such care?”
Eagerly she raised her blue eyes, hovering smiles and tears between,
Then across the room she glided, and knelt down before the queen.
Lifting up the wicker cover, “Saints in heaven!” cried Ildegar,
“Here are tissues fit for angels, wrought with wreath and point and
star,
In most curious devices! Never saw I aught so rare—
Where found you these frail webs woven of the lightest summer air?”
“Well they may be fit for angels,” said she, underneath her breath;
“O my lady, hear a story that is strange and true as death.”
But ere yet the tale was ended, up rose good Queen Ildegar,
And she sent her knights and pages to the castle riding far.
“Bring me Hildebrand and Volmar, ere the sun goes down!” she cried,
“Ho! my ladies, for a wedding, and your queen shall bless the bride!
I will buy these airy wonders, and this maiden in her hand
Shall a dowry hold as royal as the noblest in the land.”
So they combed her shining tresses, and they brought her robes of
silk,
Broidered thick with gold and silver, on a ground as white as milk.
But she whispered, “Sweetest ladies, let me wear my russet gown,
That I wore this happy morning walking blithely through the town.
I am but a peasant maiden, all unused to grand estate,
And for robes of silken splendor, dearest ladies, let me wait!”
Then the good queen, smiling brightly, from the wicker basket took
Lightest web of quaintest pattern, and its filmy folds out-shook.
With her own white hand she laid it over Rena’s golden hair,
And she cried, “Oh, look, my ladies! Ne’er before was bride so fair!”