Farewell, my dear that was once so dear, Dead with the death of our latest love;Our youth is laid in its sepulchre, The calendar stands for a stone above.
'Tis only in searching the dust of the days, The ashes of all old memories, That we find the key of the woodland ways That lead to the place of our paradise.
BALLADS.
THE THREE CAPTAINS.
ALL beneath the white-rose tree Walks a lady fair to see, She is as white as the snows, She is as fair as the day:
From her father's garden close Three knights have ta'en her away.
He has ta'en her by the hand, The youngest of the three -'Mount and ride, my bonnie bride, On my white horse with me.'
And ever they rode, and better rode, Till they came to Senlis town, The hostess she looked hard at them As they were lighting down.
'And are ye here by force,' she said, 'Or are ye here for play?
From out my father's garden close Three knights me stole away.
'And fain would I win back,' she said, 'The weary way I come;And fain would see my father dear, And fain go maiden home.'
'Oh, weep not, lady fair,' said she, 'You shall win back,' she said, 'For you shall take this draught from me Will make you lie for dead.'
'Come in and sup, fair lady,' they said, 'Come busk ye and be bright;It is with three bold captains That ye must be this night.'
When they had eaten well and drunk, She fell down like one slain:
'Now, out and alas! for my bonny may Shall live no more again.'
'Within her father's garden stead There are three white lilies;With her body to the lily bed, With her soul to Paradise.'
They bore her to her father's house, They bore her all the three, They laid her in her father's close, Beneath the white-rose tree.
She had not lain a day, a day, A day but barely three, When the may awakes, 'Oh, open, father, Oh, open the door for me.
''Tis I have lain for dead, father, Have lain the long days three, That I might maiden come again To my mother and to thee.'
THE BRIDGE OF DEATH.
'THE dance is on the Bridge of Death And who will dance with me?'
'There's never a man of living men Will dare to dance with thee.'
Now Margaret's gone within her bower Put ashes in her hair, And sackcloth on her bonny breast, And on her shoulders bare.
There came a knock to her bower door, And blithe she let him in;It was her brother from the wars, The dearest of her kin.
'Set gold within your hair, Margaret, Set gold within your hair, And gold upon your girdle band, And on your breast so fair.
'For we are bidden to dance to-night, We may not bide away;This one good night, this one fair night, Before the red new day.'
'Nay, no gold for my head brother, Nay, no gold for my hair;It is the ashes and dust of earth That you and I must wear.
'No gold work for my girdle band, No gold work on my feet;But ashes of the fire, my love, But dust that the serpents eat.'
* * * * * *
They danced across the bridge of Death, Above the black water, And the marriage-bell was tolled in hell For the souls of him and her.
LE PERE SEVERE.
KING LOUIS' DAUGHTER.
BALLAD OF THE ISLE OF FRANCE.
KING Louis on his bridge is he, He holds his daughter on his knee.
She asks a husband at his hand That is not worth a rood of land.
'Give up your lover speedily, Or you within the tower must lie.'
'Although I must the prison dree, I will not change my love for thee.
'I will not change my lover fair Not for the mother that me bare.
'I will not change my true lover For friends, or for my father dear.'
'Now where are all my pages keen, And where are all my serving men?
'My daughter must lie in the tower alway, Where she shall never see the day.'
* * * * * *
Seven long years are past and gone And there has seen her never one.
At ending of the seventh year Her father goes to visit her.
'My child, my child, how may you be?'
'O father, it fares ill with me.
'My feet are wasted in the mould, The worms they gnaw my side so cold.'
'My child, change your love speedily Or you must still in prison lie.'
''Tis better far the cold to dree Than give my true love up for thee.'
THE MILK WHITE DOE.
IT was a mother and a maid That walked the woods among, And still the maid went slow and sad, And still the mother sung.
'What ails you, daughter Margaret?
Why go you pale and wan?
Is it for a cast of bitter love, Or for a false leman?'
'It is not for a false lover That I go sad to see;But it is for a weary life Beneath the greenwood tree.
'For ever in the good daylight A maiden may I go, But always on the ninth midnight I change to a milk white doe.
'They hunt me through the green forest With hounds and hunting men;And ever it is my fair brother That is so fierce and keen.'
* * * * *
'Good-morrow, mother.' 'Good-morrow, son;Where are your hounds so good?'
Oh, they are hunting a white doe Within the glad greenwood.
'And three times have they hunted her, And thrice she's won away;The fourth time that they follow her That white doe they shall slay.'
* * * * * *
Then out and spoke the forester, As he came from the wood, 'Now never saw I maid's gold hair Among the wild deer's blood.
'And I have hunted the wild deer In east lands and in west;And never saw I white doe yet That had a maiden's breast.'
Then up and spake her fair brother, Between the wine and bread, 'Behold, I had but one sister, And I have been her dead.'
'But ye must bury my sweet sister With a stone at her foot and her head, And ye must cover her fair body With the white roses and red.'
And I must out to the greenwood, The roof shall never shelter me;And I shall lie for seven long years On the grass below the hawthorn tree.
A LADY OF HIGH DEGREE.
[I be pareld most of prise, I ride after the wild fee.]
WILL ye that I should sing Of the love of a goodly thing, Was no vilein's may?
'Tis sung of a knight so free, Under the olive tree, Singing this lay.
Her weed was of samite fine, Her mantle of white ermine, Green silk her hose;Her shoon with silver gay, Her sandals flowers of May, Laced small and close.
Her belt was of fresh spring buds, Set with gold clasps and studs, Fine linen her shift;Her purse it was of love, Her chain was the flower thereof, And Love's gift.
Upon a mule she rode, The selle was of brent gold, The bits of silver made;Three red rose trees there were That overshadowed her, For a sun shade.
