Ho! Bring ye the harp."
Then they brought it as he bade.
But Ralph looked to right and left and saw no deliverance,
and knew this for the first hour of his thralldom.
Yet, as he thought of it all, he remembered that if he would do,
he must needs bear and forbear; and his face cleared,
and he looked round about again and let his eyes rest calmly
on all eyes that he met till they came on the Lord's face again.
Then he let his hand fall into the strings and they fell
a-tinkling sweetly, like unto the song of the winter robin,
and at last he lifted his voice and sang:
Still now is the stithy this morning unclouded,
Nought stirs in the thorp save the yellow-haired maid
A-peeling the withy last Candlemas shrouded
From the mere where the moorhen now swims unafraid.
For over the Ford now the grass and the clover
Fly off from the tines as the wind driveth on;
And soon round the Sword-howe the swathe shall lie over,
And to-morrow at even the mead shall be won.
But the Hall of the Garden amidst the hot morning,
It drew my feet thither; I stood at the door,
And felt my heart harden 'gainst wisdom and warning
As the sun and my footsteps came on to the floor.
When the sun lay behind me, there scarce in the dimness
I say what I sought for, yet trembled to find;
But it came forth to find me, until the sleek slimness
Of the summer-clad woman made summer o'er kind.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394