THE ABBOT OF CALDER.
The Abbot of Calder rode out from his gate
To the town, saying, "Sorrow lies, early and late,
In this wretched wide world upon every degree;
And each child of the Church must have comfort from me!
So on palfrey I wend to Lord Lucy's strong hold:
For this life must press hard on these barons so bold."
The Abbot was welcome to Lucy's proud hall.
And he sat down with knights, and with ladies, and all,
High at feast, joyous-hearted, light, gallant, and fair:
Where to speak upon woe were but jesting with care.
So his palfrey re-mounting at evening, he troll'd,
"The world goes not ill with these barons so bold."
Ambling on by the forge, he drew up by the flame,
"Well, my son! how is all with the children and dame?
Toiling on!"—"Yes! but, father, not badly we speed;
We have health; and for wealth, we lack nought that we need."
Then at least, thought the Monk, here no text I need urge,
For the world passes well with my friend at the forge!
Turning off by the stream at the foot of the hill,
All were busy, as bees in a hive, at the mill.
"Benedicite!" cried he to women and wives,
Where they sang at their labour as if for their lives,
All so fat, fair, and fruitful. The Abbot jogg'd on,
Humming, "Sweet, too, is rest when the labour is done."
As he pass'd by the lane that leads up to the stile,
Pretty Lillie came down with her curtsey and smile,—
"Well, my daughter!" the Abbot said, chucking her chin;
"How is Robin?—or Reuben? which—which is to win?"
"—Thank you!—Robin," she said, as she blushed in her sleeve;
While the Monk, spurring on, laughed a joyous "good eve!"
On the verge of the chase rode the falconer by:
With a song on his lip and a laugh in his eye,
All the day o'er the moors he had gallop'd, and now
He was off to the quintain-match over the brow;
Then to crown with good cheer all the sports of the day.
And the Abbot sighed, "Springtime, and beautiful May!"
And at length in the hollow he came, as he rode,
To the forester Robin's trim cottage abode.
And there stood the youth, ruddy, stalwart, and curled:—
"—Ha, Robin! this looks not like strife with the world!"—
"No! and please you, good father, she's coming to-morrow!"
"—Well! a blessing on both of you!—keep you from sorrow."
So he reached his fair Abbey by Calder's sweet stream,
Well believing all troubles in life are a dream;
Looked around on his park and his fertile domain,
With a thought to his cellars, a glance at his grain;
While the stream through his meadow-lands rippled and purled;
And exclaimed, "What a place is a sorrowful world!"
And the Abbot of Calder that night o'er his bowl
Felt a peace passing speech in the depths of his soul.
And he dreamt mid the noise and the merry uproar
Of the brethren beneath—all his fasting was o'er;
That earth's many woes had to darkness been driven;
And the sweet woods of Calder were gardens in Heaven.