THE LADYE'S BRYDALle. "COME hither! come hither, my little foot-page, This ring of the good red gowde, and be sure "And take tent, little page! if my Ladye's cheeke If her locks are unkempt, and her bonnie eyes red, "And marke, little page! when thou shewest the ringe, If she snatcheth it hastilye If the red bloode mount up her slender throate, To her forehead of ivorye ; "And take good heede, if for gladnesse or griefe, So chaungeth my Ladye's cheere Thou shalt know bye her eyes-if their light laugh out Throwe the miste of a startynge tear ; "(Like the summer sun throwe a morninge cloude) That my Ladye brighte, to her own true Knighte, "Nowe ryde, little page! for the sun peeres out And back thou must bee, with thye tydinges to mee, Awaye, and awaye! and he's far on his waye, For he's back'd on his Lord's owne gallant graye, But the Knighte stands there lyke a charmed man, The clatteringe speed of his noble steede, That swifte as the wynde doth flye. But the wyndes and the lightninges are loiterers alle And Sir Alwynne, I trowe, had call'd Bonnybelle slowe, Beseemed to him, that the sun once more But the longest daye must end at last, Where stayedde Sir Alwynue at peepe of dawne, And he spyethe at laste- Not soe, not soe, "But harke! but harke! and I heare it now- "Not soe, Sir Knighte! from that rockye height 'Twas a clattering stone that felle." "That slothfulle boy! but I'll thinke no more Of him and his lagging jade to-daye :" Righte, righte, Sir Knighte!"-" Nay, more, bye this lighte, Here comethe mye page, and mye gallante graye." "Howe nowe, little page! ere thou lighteste downe, Little page, hast thou seen mye Ladye luve? "I've seen thy Ladye luve, Sir Knighte, And welle hath she keepit her faithe with thee.""Lighte downe, lighte downe, mye trustye page; A berrye browne barbe shall thy guerdon bee. "Tell on, tell on; was mye Ladye's cheeke Did she putte the ringe on her finger smalle? Pale was thy Ladye's cheeke, Sir Knighte, Blent with no streake of the rosie red. I put the ringe on her finger smalle ; But there is no voice amongste the dead."— There are torches hurrying to and froe In Raeburne Tower to-nighte; And the chapelle doth glowe withe lampes alsoe, But where is the bryde? and the brydegroome where? And where are the guestes that shoulde bidden bee, The bryde from her chamber descendeth nowe, The bryde is the faire Maude Winstanlye, To her mother's yawning tombe. An aged man, and a woefull man, And a heavye moane makes hee: Mye childe! mye childe! myne onlye childe ! An aged man, those white hairs telle, Yet a stalwart knighte, at Tewkesburye fighte, 'Tis a moving thing to see the teares Seldom and slowe, lyke the scantye droppes 'Tis a sorrye sighte to see graye haires But the olde white head, and the feeble knees Berefte of earthlye staye!— God help thee nowe, olde Winstanlye! Good Christians for thee praye! But manye a voice in that buriall traine Breathes gloomilye aparte, "Thou had'st not been childlesse now, olde man! But for thine owne hard harte." And manye a maide who streweth flowers Afore the Lady's biere, Weepes out, "Thou had'st not dyed, sweete Maude! If Alwynne had been heere." The holye altar blazethe brighte With waxen tapers high, Elsewhere in dimme and doubtfull lighte Doth all the chapelle lye. Huge, undefined shadows falle And manye a rustye shirte of mail Banner and scutcheon from the walles For now the mourninge companye, Shall And the gilded nails on one looke brighte, And the velvet of cramoisie ; She hath scarce lain there a full told yeare, "There's roome for thee here, oh daughter deare!" Methinks I heare her saye "There's roome for thee, Maude Winstanlye! Come downe, make no delaye." And from the vaulte, two grimlye armes Upraisede, demaunde the dead Hark! hark! 'tis the thunder of trampling steedes; 'Tis the clank of an armed tread! |