But seeing with him an ancient dame "Ha! nurse of her that was my bane, "Sir Knight," the abbot interposed, Remember, each his sentence waits; Sweet Mercy's suit, on him the gates You wedded undispensed by Church, Her house denounced your marriage-band, And the ring you put upon her hand Then wept your Jane upon my neck, To my Howel Bann's Glamorgan hills :' But word arrived-ah me ! You were not there; and 'twas their threat, By foul means or by fair, To-morrow morning was to set I had a son, a sea-boy, in To Scotland from the Devon's She wrote you by my son, but he For they had wronged you, to elude To die but at your feet, she vowed To roam the world; and we Would both have sped and begged our bread, For when the snow-storm beat our roof, Twas smiling on that babe one morn She shunned him, but he raved of Jane Who came to us in high disdain, And where's the face,' she cried, 'Has witched my boy to wish for one So wretched for his wife? Dost love thy husband? Know, my son Has sworn to seek his life.' Her anger sore dismayed us, For our mite was wearing scant, So I told her, weeping bitterly, And she housed us both, when, cheerfully, Here paused the nurse, and then began He heard me long, with ghastly eyes At last by what this scroll attests For years of anguish to the breasts His guilt had wrung with grief. There lived,' he said, 'a fair young dame Beneath my mother's roof; I loved her, but against my flame Her purity was proof. འ་ I feigned repentance, friendship pure; As means to search him, my deceit The treachery took: she waited wild; I felt her tears for years and years Fame told us of his glory, while And whilst she blessed his name, her smile No fears could damp; I reached the camp, And if my broadsword failed at last, 'Twas long and well laid on. 1 This wound's my meed, my name's Kinghorn, My foe's the Ritter Bann.' The wafer to his lips was borne, And we shrived the dying man. He died not till you went to fight But I see my tale has changed you pale." The Abbot went for wine; And brought a little page who poured It out, and knelt and smiled: The stunned knight saw himself restored And stooped and caught him to his breast, And with a shower of kisses pressed The darling little one. "And where went Jane?"-"To a nunnery, Look not again so pale Kinghorn's old dame grew harsh to her." "And has she ta'en the veil ?" "Sit down, Sir," said the priest," I bar Rash words."-They sat all three, Sir And the boy played with the knight's broad star, As he kept him on his knee. "Think ere you ask her dwelling-place," The abbot further said; "Time draws a veil o'er beauty's face Grief may have made her what you can The priest undid two doors that hid And there a lovely woman stood, One moment may with bliss repay Of the Knight embracing Jane. |