Chapter XLVII: Part II

Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet in her green mantle,
To Miles Cross she did gae.

The heavens were black, the night was dark,
And dreary was the place;
But Janet stood, with eager wish,
Her lover to embrace.

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And straight she heard strange elritch sounds,
Upon that wind which went.

About the dead hour o’ the night,
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o’ that
As any earthly thing.

Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill.
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;
But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,
The Fairies cannot bear.

They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like skylarks in the air;
Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave,
You’ll find no traces there.

Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;
And louder, louder wax’d the sound,
As they came riding on.

Will o’ Wisp before them went,
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the fairy bands
All riding in her sight.

And first gaed by the black, black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.

She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa’;
And up there raise an erlish cry--
“He’s won amang us a’!”--

They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms,
A tod, but and an eel;
She held him fast in every shape--
As she did love him weel.

They shaped him in her arms at last,
A mother-naked man;
She wrapt him in her green mantle,
And sae her true love wan!

Up then spake the queen o’ fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ broom--
“She that has borrow’d young Tamlane,
Has gotten a stately groom.”--

Up then spake the queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ rye--
“She’s ta’en awa the bonniest knight
In a’ my cumpanie.

“But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“A ladye wad borrow’d thee--
I wad ta’en out thy twa grey een,
Put in twa een o’ tree.

“Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“Before ye came frae hame--
I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh,
Put in a heart o’ stane.”

“Had I but had the wit yestreen
That I hae coft the day--
I’d paid my kane seven times to hell
Ere you’d been won away!”

(_Condensed_)

THE WIFE OF USHER’S WELL

There lived a wife at Usher’s Well,
And a wealthy wife was she,
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o’er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word came back to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
When word came to the carline wife,
That her sons she’d never see.

“I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood!”--

It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife’s three sons cam hame,
And their hats were o’ the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o’ Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneuch.

* * * * *

“Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!
For a’ my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.”--

And she has made to them a bed,
She’s made it large and wide;
And she’s ta’en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bedside.

* * * * *

Up then crew the red red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
“’Tis time we were away.”--

The cock he hadna craw’d but ance,
And clapp’d his wings at a’,
When the youngest to the eldest said,
“Brother, we must awa.--

“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw
The channerin’ worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o’ our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.

“Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass,
That kindles my mother’s fire.”

SIR ROLAND

Whan he cam to his ain luve’s bouir,
He tirled at the pin;
And sae ready was his fair fause luve
To rise and let him in.

“Oh! welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,” she says,
“Thrice welcome thou art to me;
For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir
And to-morrow we’ll wedded be.”

“This night is Hallow Eve,” he said,
“And to-morrow is Hallow-day;
And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
That has made my heart fu’ wae.

“I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
And I wish it may come to gude;
I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,
And gied me his lappered blude.”

* * * * *

“Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,” she said,
“And set you safely down.”
“Oh! your chamber is very dark, fair maid,
And the night is wondrous lown.”

“Yes, dark dark is my secret bowir,
And lown the midnight may be;
For there is none waking in a’ this tower
But thou, my true love, and me.”

* * * * *

She has mounted on her true love’s steed,
By the ae light o’ the moon;
She has whipped him and spurred him,
And roundly she rade frae the toun.

She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate,
Never a mile but ane,
Whan she was aware of a tall young man,
Slow riding o’er the plain.

She turned her to the right about,
Then to the left turned she;
But aye ’tween her and the wan moonlight
That tall Knight did she see.

And he was riding burd alane,
On a horse as black as jet;
But tho’ she followed him fast and fell,
No nearer could she get.

“Oh stop! Oh stop! young man,” she said;
“For I in dule am dight;
Oh stop, and win a fair lady’s luve,
If you be a leal true Knight.”

But nothing did the tall Knight say,
And nothing did he blin;
Still slowly rode he on before
And fast she rade behind.

She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,
Till his breast was all a foam;
But nearer unto that tall young Knight,
The Lady, she could not come.

“Oh, if you be a gay young Knight,
As well I trow you be,
Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay
Till I come up to thee.”

But nothing did that tall Knight say,
And no whit did he blin,
Until he reached a broad river’s side
And there he drew his rein.

“Oh, is this water deep?” he said,
“As it is wondrous dun?
Or is it sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true Knight may swim?”

“The water it is deep,” she said,
“As it is wondrous dun;
But it is sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true Knight may swim.”

The Knight spurred on his tall black steed;
The Lady spurred on her brown;
And fast they rade into the flood,
And fast they baith swam down.

“The water weets my tae,” she said;
“The water weets my knee;
And hold up my bridle reins, Sir Knight,
For the sake of Our Ladye.”

“If I would help thee now,” he said,
“It were a deadly sin;
For I’ve sworn neir to trust a fair may’s word,
Till the water weets her chin.”

“Oh! the water weets my waist,” she said;
“Sae does it weet my skin;
And my aching heart rins round about,
The burn maks sic a din.

“The water is waxing deeper still,
Sae does it wax mair wide;
And aye the farther that we ride on,
Farther off is the other side.

“Oh, help me now, thou fause fause Knight!
Have pity on my youth;
For now the water jawes owre my head,
And it gurgles in my mouth.”

The Knight turned right and round about,
All in the middle stream;
And he stretched out his head to that Ladie
But loudly she did scream!

“Oh, this is Hallow-morn,” he said,
“And it is your bridal day;
But sad would be that gay wedding,
If bridegroom and bride were away.

“And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!
Till the water comes o’er your bree;
For the bride maun ride deep and deeper yet,
Wha rides this ford wi’ me!

“Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!
Turn ye round, and look on me!
Thou hast killed a true Knight under trust,
And his Ghost now links on with thee.”

THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR

“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armour drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?”

Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water’s flow
Under December’s snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart’s chamber.

“I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man’s curse;
For this I sought thee.

“Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic’s strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

“Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf’s bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

“But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair’s crew,
O’er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

“Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk’s tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o’erflowing.

“Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendour.

“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid.
And in the forest shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

“Bright in her father’s hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter’s hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

“While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

“She was a Prince’s child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew’s flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

“Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

“Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

“And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
‘Death!’ was the helmsman’s hail,
‘Death without quarter!’
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!

“As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,--
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

“Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o’er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady’s bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

“There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden’s tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne’er shall the sun arise
On such another!

“Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!

“Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul,
_Skoal!_ to the Northland! _skoal!_”
Thus the tale ended.

_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

SWEET WILLIAM’S GHOST

There came a ghost to Margret’s door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.

“Is that my father Philip,
Or is’t my brother John?
Or is’t my true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home?”

“Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John;
But tis thy true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home.

“O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.”

“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.”

“If I shoud come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.

“O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.”

“Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till you take me to yon kirk,
And wed me with a ring.”

“My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That’s now speaking to thee.”

She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,
And, for to do her best,
“Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest.”

Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a’ the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.

“Is there any room at your head, Willy?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?”

“There’s no room at my head, Margret,
There’s no room at my feet;
There’s no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin’s made so meet.”

Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
“Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were going away.”

No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanishd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.

“O stay, my only true-love, stay,”
The constant Margret cry’d;
Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,
Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy’d.

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN