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19. The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around; “ I know my father's ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe."
The miller answer'd him again, “ He knew of little news,
22. “ Of him I held this little mill, which wins me living free, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me; And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.”
It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began,
24. His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe; And to the warder thus lie spoke : “ Friend, to thy Lady say, A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day.
25. “ I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is well nigh done, And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sun ; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole, And for the sake of Moringer's, her once loved husband's soul.”
26. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, “ A pilgrim worn and travel-toil'd stands at the castle door; And prays for sweet Saint Thomas' sake for harbour and for dole, And for the sake of Moringer thy noble husband's soul.”
27. The Lady's gentle heart was moved, “ Do up the gate,” she said, “ And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed; And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay, These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day.”
28. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad, It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; “ And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said, “ though from a man of sin, That the true Lord stands here once more his castle gate within."
30. Now spent was day and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour, The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower; "Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, “ hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chaunt a song."
31. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, “ My merry minstrel folks," quoth he,“ lay shalm and harp aside ; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.”
“ Chill flows the lay of frozen age,” 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, “ Nor golden mead, nor garment gay unlocks her heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thipe, And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.
33. “ But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-haired, For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard; Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age."
95. It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine A bridal ring of burnish'd gold 80 costly and so fine: Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth.
37. The cup-bearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied, The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; “ Lady,” he said, “ your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray."
38. The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, “ The Moringer is here!" Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell,But whether 'twas for joy or woe the ladies best can tell.
40. 6. Yes, here I claim the praise,” she said, “ to constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight so stedfastly and true; For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright, Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.”
It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, He kneeld before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw; “ My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were the words he said, “ Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head."
42. The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, “ He gathers wisdom that hatli roam'd seven twelvemonths and a day; My daughter now bath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name ber for my heir."
43. The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old, Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told; “ But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate, For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late !"
THE GRAVE OF CRAZY JANE
From the MS. of the late John Finlay, Author of Wallace, fc.
When from all their cares they sleep,
And their eyes havę ceased to weep.
Oft I mark at dewy e'en,
The lone grave of Crazy Jane.
Stealing down yon hawthorn glade,
Of a poor and hapless maid.
Listen'd to the melting strain;
On the cheek of Crazy Jane !
Every pang has pass'd away,
Cold she mingles with the clay.
Tinges all the western main,
Gilds the grave of Crazy Jane.
Shakes the leafless hawthorn tree;
Oft she'd wander there, and ponder,
Weeping o'er life's stormy sea. There, when morning frost advancing,
Crisps with ice the sleeping wave, See the red-breast softly chanting,
O’er her bare and lonely grave.
Softer would thy wild note flow;
Sweetly warbling strains of woe.
And the winds have ceased to rave, Faithless, to the woods retiring,
Thou forsakest her lonely grave.
THE PALE CHEEK OF LOVE.
From the MS. of the late John Finlay.
I Heed not, Love, the rosy
Of feelings that have made it so.
In days that long are past and gone,
And breathed its warmth upon my own,
I mark'd o'er grief thy roses shed,
Like blooms on an untimely wind;
I deem'd the lilies left behind.
Yet well could I the cause divine;
Were sorrows that arose from mine;