Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Under tower and balcony, Out upon the wharfs they came, Who is this? and what is here? And they cross'd themselves for fear, Alfred, Lord Tennyson T THOMAS THE RHYMER RUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; And there he saw a ladye bright Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk, True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap, And louted low down on his knee: "Hail to thee, Mary, Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth could never be." "O no, O no, Thomas," she said, "That name does not belang to me; "Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; "Betide me weal, betide me woe, All underneath the Eildon Tree. "Now ye maun go wi' me," she said, She's mounted on her milk-white steed, O they rade on, and farther on, “Light down, light down now, true Thomas, And I will show you ferlies three. "O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset wi' thorns and briers? "And see ye not yon braid, braid road, "And see ye not yon bonny road That winds about the fernie brae? That is the Road to fair Elfland, Where you and I this night maun gae. "But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see; For speak ye word in Elflyn-land, Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie." O, they rade on, and farther on, And they waded rivers abune the knee; It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight, Syne they came to a garden green, "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; It will give thee the tongue that can never lee." "My tongue is my ain," true Thomas he said; A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! I neither dought to buy or sell At fair or tryst where I might be. "I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!" "Now haud thy peace, Thomas," she said, 'For as I say, so must it be.". He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, Anonymous LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has wither'd from the lake, O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, Fast withereth too. I met a lady in the meads. Full beautiful-a faery's child, Her hair was long, her foot was light, I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; I set her on my pacing steed, She found me roots of relish sweet, And sure in language strange she said— She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'dah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; I saw their starved lips in the gloam, And this is why I sojourn here, Though the sedge 'is wither'd from the lake And no birds sing. John Keats |