XXX.

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 chant a song."

XXXI.

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride,

"My merry minstrel folk," 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."—

XXXII.

"Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pilgrim sung,

"Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue;

Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine,

And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.

XXXIII.

"But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-hair'd,

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."

XXXIV.

It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears,

And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears;

She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker

take,

And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.

XXXV.

It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the

wine

A bridal ring of burning gold so 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.

XXXVI.

Then to the cupbearer he said, "Do me one kindly deed,

And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed;

Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride

so gay,

And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray."

XXXVII.

The cupbearer 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."

XXXVIII.

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.

XXXIX.

But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every

saintly power,

That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight hour;

And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride,

That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried.

XL.

"Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, "to constant matrons due,

Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly 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."

XLI.

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there

he drew,

He kneel'd 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."

XLII.

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did

say,

"He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelvemonths and a day;

My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair,

I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir.

XLIII.

"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."