"Now, Allan," she said, with a silent laugh, In eyes both quaint and keen, "Thou must not fear, for here I swear By Coz. Saint Catharine, 'Twas easier for this doughty knight To hold these horns he dared, Than take for wife by a father's right, Against the spurn of a maiden's spite, The daughter of Ravensbeard."
"No, no, fair lady," George Allan said-- With tears his eyes were full-- "'Tis easier to force the will of a maid, Than hold by the horns a bull." "Yes! yes! of the maids who say a prayer, Like sisters of orders grey; But Kate admits no craven fear, And she can do what they cannot dare, For she's quicker of parts than they."
III.
It's up in yon chamber well bedight Of the castle of Invercloyd, A maiden sits with a grim sir knight Seated on either side. "I come to thee by a father's right, To issue my last command, That thou concede to this gallant knight, What his noble nature will requite, The guerdon of thy hand."
"And here, upon my bended knee," Sir Bullstrode blandly said, "I pray thee, in knightly courtesie, The grace thy sire hath pled." "Oh yes! a guerdon let it remain, I give thee free consent; But I have a mind, and will maintain, This knight shall only my favour gain In knightly tournament."
"What meaneth the wench?" the father cried, With a fire-flaught in his eye, "What other knight would'st thou invite Sir Bullstrode to defy? Is he a lover? I grant no parle, For I am resolved to know, And wish, by my sword, no better a quarrel; And be he a ceorl, or be he an earl, He goes to shades below."
"No lover is he, my father dear, My champion who shall be; A stranger knight shall for me fight, And shall my fate decree." "Well done! well done!" cried Sir Bullstrode, "That goeth with my gree; May the carrion crow be then abroad, All hungry to feed upon carrion food, That day he fights with me."
"But let this contract," said the maid, "Be written on parchment skin, And signed, and sealed, and witnessèd, That surety I may find." Again the father knit his brow, Yet could not he complain, Because Sir Bullstrode wished it so, That all the world might come to know His honour he could maintain.
IV.
It's up in yon chamber tapestried, Sits the Lady Katharine; She smiled at a woman's art applied Her own true love to win. And lo! who comes in a tearful way, But her pretty tire-woman, "Hey! hey! what now? good lack-a-day! Such cheeks so pale, and lips like clay; What ails maid Lilian?"
"Oh it is, it is, young mistress mine, All about this valiant knight, Who came to me all drunk with wine, At the dead hour of the night. He seized me struggling to get free, And swore by the goat of Jove, He would me fee, if I would be, La! my lady! I fear to tell it to thee, _His left-hand lady-love_."
"Ho! ho! my maid, a pretty scene! A brute of noble parts! But 'tis easier to turn a bull by each horn, Than rule two women's hearts. No harems have we in western land, Where a woman's soul is free, To rule weak man by her high command, And rouse by a wave of her wizard wand The fire of his chivalrie."
V.
Lo! round the lists, and round the lists, Bedecked with pennons gay, Environed there with ladies fair, Sir Bullstrode held his way. High mounted on a gallant steed, And armed a-cap-a-pie, His lance well graced by a pennon red, A white plume nodded o'er his head, With ribbons at his knee.
"Why mounts not Kate the dais seat?" The father loudly cried. "She hath not finished her robing yet," A lady quick replied. And now a shout rang all about, Ho! ho! there comes apace, A Cataphract[A] of noble mien, With armour bright as silver sheen, And eke of gentle grace.
[Footnote A: A knight completely equipped; a word in common use in the times of chivalry.]
He bore for his escochion Dan Cupid with his dart, And for his crest there was impressed A well-skewered bleeding heart; His yellow streamer on his spear, Flew fluttering in the wind, And thrice he waved it in the air, As if to fan the ladies there, And thrice his head inclined.
"Who's he, who's he?" cried Ravensbeard; But no one there could say. "Knowest thou him?" cried some who heard; But each one answered Nay. "I am Sir Peveril," said the knight, "If you my name would learn, And I will for fair Katharine fight, A lady's love, and a lady's right, And a lady's choice to earn."
The gauntlet thrown upon the ground, Sir Bullstrode laughed with joy: "Short work," said he, "I'll make of thee-- Methinks a beardless boy." Nor sooner said than in he sprang And aimed a mortal blow, The crenel upon the buckler rang, And having achieved an echoing clang, It made no more ado.
The stranger knight wheeled quick as light, And charging with gratitude, Gave him good thank on his left flank, And lo! a stream of blood! Shall he this knight, so dread in fight, Cede to this beardless foe, And feel in his pain, returned again, That vaunt of his so empty and vain, That vaunt of the carrion crow?
Stung by the wound, not less by shame, He gathered all his force, And sprang again, with desperate aim, His enemy to unhorse; But he who watched the pointed lance A dexterous movement made, And saw his foe, as he missed the blow, Rock in his selle both to and fro, And vault o'er his horse's head.
Sore fainting from the loss of blood, He lay upon the ground, Nor e'er a leech within his reach Can stop that fatal wound. And there with many an honour full, That brave and doughty knight, Sir Bullstrode, who once strode the bull, And killed (himself one) many a fool, Has closed his eyes in night.
VI.
And now within the ballion court There sits Sir Ravensbeard: "Who shall me say what popinjay Hath earned this proud reward?" And there stands Katharine all confessed In maiden dignity; "'Twas I, in 'fence of life sore pressed, 'Twas I, at honour's high behest, This bad man made to die.
"For hear me, sire, restrain your ire, This knight you so admired, A plan had laid to ruin my maid, While he for my love aspired. I claim the contract by his hand, Whereto thou'rt guarantee, And this young Allan is the man, And he alone of all Scotland, Thy Katharine's lord shall be."
V.
THE BALLAD OF AILIE FAA.
I.
Sir Robert has left his castle ha', The castle of fair Holmylee, And gone to meet his Ailie Faa, Where no one might be there to see. He has sounded shrill his bugle horn, But not for either horse or hound; And when the echoes away were borne, He listened for a well-known sound.
He hears a rustling among the leaves, Some pattering feet are drawing near; Like autumn's breathings among the sheaves, So sweet at eventide to hear: His Ailie Faa, who is sweeter far Than the white rose hanging upon the tree, Who is fairer than the fairies are That dance in moonlight on the lea.
Oh! there are some flowers, as if in love, Unto the oak their arms incline; And tho' the tree may rotten prove, They still the closer around it twine: So has it been until this hour, And so in coming time 'twill be, Wherever young love may hang a flower, 'Twill think it aye ane trusty tree.
He has led her into a summer bower, For he was fond and she was fain, And there with all of a lover's power He whispered that old and fatal strain, Which those who sing it and those who hear Have never sung and never heard, But they have shed the bitter tear For every soft delusive word.
He pointed to yon castle ha', And all its holts so green and fair; And would not she, poor Ailie Faa, Move some day as a mistress there? As the parchèd lea receives the rains, Her ears drank up the sweet melodie; A gipsy's blood flowed in her veins, A gipsy's soul flashed in her eye.
Oh! it's time will come and time will go, That which has been will be again; This strange world's ways go to and fro, This moment joy, the next is pain. A sough has thro' the hamlet spread, To Ailie's ear the tidings came, That Holmylee will shortly wed A lady fair of noble name.
II.
In yon lone cot adown the Lynne A widowed mother may think it long Since there were lightsome words within, Since she has heard blithe Ailie's song. A gloomy shade sits on Ailie's brow, At times her eyes flash sudden fires, The same she had noticed long ago, Deep flashing in her gipsy sire's.
When the wind at even was low and loun, And the moon paced on in her majesty Thro' lazy clouds, and threw adown Her silvery light o'er turret and tree, Then Ailie sought the green alcove, That place of fond lovers' lone retreat, Where she for the boon of gentle love, Had changed the meed of a deadly hate.
She sat upon "the red Lynne stone," Where she between the trees might see, By yon pale moon that shone thereon, The goodly turrets of Holmylee. And as she felt the throbbing pains, And as she heaved the bursting sigh, A gipsy's blood burned in her veins, A gipsy's soul flashed in her eye.
If small the body that thus was moved, So like the form that fairies wear, It was that slenderness he loved, So tiny a thing he might not fear. But there is an insect skims the air, Bedecked with azure and green and gold, Whose sting is a deadlier thing by far Than dagger of yon baron bold.