But he no word to her had writt, With sowne of trump, and beat of drum, Their helmes bydeckt with oaken boughs, And ev'ry road and ev'ry lane To hail with gladsome toung. Thank God!' their wives and children saide, 'Welcome!' the brides did saye : But greete or kiss Lenora gave To none upon that daye. She askte of all the passing traine, But none of all the passing traine And when the soldyers all were bye, And cast herself upon the growne In furious despaire. Her mother ran and lyfte her up, And clasped in her arme, 'My child, my child, what dost thou ail? God shield thy life from harm!' 'O mother, mother! William's gone! What's all besyde to me? There is no mercye, sure, above! 'Knell downe, thy paternoster saye, "Twill calm thy troubled spright; The Lord is wyse, the Lord is good: What hee hath done is right.' "O mother, mother! say not so; Most cruel is my fate: I prayde, and prayde; but watt avayl❜d! 'Tis now, alas! too late.' Our Heavenly Father, if we praye, Go take the holy sacrament: So shall thy grief grow milde.' 'O mother, what I feel within, 'May be, among the heathen folk 'Then wherefore sorrow for his loss? Thy moans are all in vain : ́ O mother, mother! gone is gone: My hope is all forlorne; The grave mie only safeguard is- 'Go out, go out, my lampe of life: Almighty God! O do not judge She knows not what her lips pronounce, 'O mother, mother! what is blisse, 'Go out, go out, my lampe of life; And so despaire did rave and rage She bet her breaste, and wrung her hands, And rollde her tearlesse eye, From rise of morne, till the pale stars Again did freeke the skye. When, harke! abroade she hearde the trampe Of nimble-hoofed steed; She hearde a knighte with clank alighte, And climb the stair in speede. And soon she herde a tinkling hande, And thro' her door, that open'd not, These words were breathed in. 'What ho! what ho! thy dore undoe; My love, dost yet remember mee, 'Ah! William, here so late at night! "At midnight only we may ride; I come o'er land and sea : 'O William, enter first my bowre, And give me one embrace: The blasts athwarte the hawthorn hiss Awayte a little space.' ; 'The blasts athwarte the hawthorn hiss, I may not harboure here; My spurre is sharpe, my courser pawes, My houre of flighte is nere. All as thou lyest upon thy couch, To-night we'le ride a thousand miles, The bridal bed to finde.' 'How! ride to-night a thousand miles? Thy love thou dost bemocke: Eleven is the stroke that still 6 Looke up; the moone is bright, and we Outstride the earthlie men : I'll take thee to the bridal bed, 'And where is, then, thy house and home? And where thy bridal bed?' ''Tis narrow, silent, chilly, dark; Far hence I rest my head.' And is there any room for mee, 'There's room enough for thee and mee, 'All as thou ly'st upon thy couch, The wedding guests thy coming waite, All in her sarke, as there she lay, Upon his horse she sprung; |