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XV. Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another
rein, And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal
train; And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstet
XVI. It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, “Oh would that I had ne'er been born! what tidings
have I heard ! To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be
my care, But, God! that e'er a squire untrue, should wed my Lady fair.
XVII. “O good Saint Thomas, hear,” he pray'd,“ my patron
Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my
vow! My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name, , And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame."
XVIII. It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his
pilgrim's prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o’erpower'd
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a
rill, High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.
The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all
around; “I know my father's ancient towers, the mill, the
stream I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pil
XX. He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he
drew, So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master
knew; The Baron to the miller said, “Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may
there be ?"
The miller answer'd him again, “ He knew of little
news, Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom
choose; Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant
word, His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy
XXII. “Of him I held the little mill which wins me living
free, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers
take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both
cope and stole."
XXIII. It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary
man ; “ Now help me, every saint in heaven that can com
passion take, To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to
XXIV. His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and
slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy
all with woe; And to the warder thus be spoke: “Friend, to thy
Lady say, A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day.
XXV. “ I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is
well-nigh done, And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's
sun; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed
and dole, And for the sake of Moringer's, her once loved hus
XXVI. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame
before, A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the
castle-door; And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbour
and for dole, And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul.”
XXVII. The Lady's gentle heart was moved, “Do up the
gate,” she said, “ And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to
bed; And since he names my husband's name, so that he
lists to stay, These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day."
XXVIII. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal
broad, It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold
strode; “ And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said,
though from a man of sin, That the true lord stands here once more his castle.
XXIX. Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad
and slow; t sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their lord He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress’d with woe and
wrong, Short space
he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long.
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
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