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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

ten's heir.

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

his care;

He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a

rill, High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.

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XIX.

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

grim's woe!”

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 ?"

XXI.

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

Lord.

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

me !

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

break.”

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

band's soul."

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.

gate within."

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

to know;

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

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.

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