Up to the fosse he rode so free, There his steed stumbled and he fell, He cannot pass, nor turn, nor flee; His song is done, hes in the spell. She dances round him where he stands, Her distaff touches both his feet, She blows upon his eyes and hands, He has no power his fate to cheat. "Ye cannot visit her to-night, Nor ever again," the witch-wife cried; "But thou shalt do as I think right, And do it swift without a guide. "Upon the top of Tintock Hill This night there rests the yearly mist, In silence go, your tongue keep still, And find for me the dead mans kist. "Within the kist there is a cup, Thou'lt find it by the dead man's shine, Take it thus! thus fold it up,-- It holds for me the wisdom-wine. "Go to the top of Tintock hill, Grope within that eerie mist, Whatever happens, keep quite still Until ye find the dead man's kist. "The kist will open, take the cup, Heed ye not the dead man's shine, Take it thus, thus fold it up, Bring it to me and I am thine." He went, he could make answer none, He went, he found all as she said, Before the dawn had well begun She had the cup from that strange bed. Into the hut she fled at once, She drank the wine;--forthwith behold! A radiant damozel advance From that black door in silken fold. The little Circe flower she held Towards the boy with such a smile Made his heart leap, he was compelled To take it gently as a child. She turned, he followed, passed the door, Which closed behind: at noon next day, Ambling on his mule that way, The Abbot found the steed, no more, The rest was lost in glamoury. ----William Bell Scott. THE WEIRD LADY |The swevens came up round Harold the Earl, Like motes in the sunnès beam; And over him stood the Weird Lady, In her charmed castle over the sea, Sang ".Lie thou still and dream." "Thy steed is dead in his stall, Earl Harold, Since thou hast been with me; The rust has eaten thy harness bright, And the rats have eaten thy greyhound light, That was so fair and free." Mary Mother she stooped from heaven; She wakened Earl Harold out of his sweven, To don his harness on; And over the land and over the sea He wended abroad to his own countrie, A weary way to gon. Oh but his beard was white with eld, Oh but his hair was gray; He stumbled on by stock and stone, And as he journeyed he made his moan Along that weary way. Earl Harold came to his castle wall; The gate was burnt with fire; Roof and rafter were fallen down, The folk were strangers all in the town, And strangers all in the shire. Earl Harold came to a house of nuns, And he heard the dead-bell toll; He saw the sexton stand by a grave; "Now Christ have mercy, who did us- save, Upon yon fair nun's soul."