“I see her dight in lily-white,
But not for the bridal-day—
And the red round the neck of that shimmer sark
Is not of the gold so gay!
“Oh, pay the fee that’s due to me,
The precious price of sin,
That I may dig a grave, a grave,
And lay me down therein!”
“Now hark, now heed! if thou indeed
Dost bend her to my will,
Thou shalt ask what fee thou wilt of me
And take it to thy fill.”
“Oh, a fearful fee I ask of thee,
And a bitter from thy bride—
For pay she must in her people’s trust
In pomp and place and pride.
“The hue so fair of bonnie brown hair—
The glint of gladsome e’e—
And lightsome step, and pride of youth,
She must pay for the love of thee!
“And as for thee, thou shalt know my fee
And curse me, in that day
When thou stretchest thine arms o’er the wan water
To the land that’s far away.”
His laughter rang in the riven roof—
“I shall not pale nor pine!
Each dog, they say, must have its day,
And shall I not have mine?”
He’s up and out of the doleful vault,
In the misty dawn so dim
That glimmers pale on his coat of mail—
And the witch steals after him.
Oh, her look is cowed, and her back is bowed,
And tottering is her tread—
And she’s but a witless wife again
That goes with a shaking head.
The queen sits wan in Jethart town
Beside her Maries three—
“Alas! for the wish I dare not name
Betwixt my heart and me!