“Now do thou hear, my plighted maid,
I rede thee be of blythesome cheer,
For thou, I ween, dost here perceive
Thy bride-bed and thy funeral bier.”
When she had sat a little space
No longer there she cared to wait;
Now stand thou up, Sir Archbishop,
And Kirstine’s bride-bed consecrate.
The little Kirstine then they took
And midst the roaring blazes threw;
The fire recoiled on every side,
So fair and bright she stood to view.
“I thank the God who me has helped,
The God who made the earth and sky;
Now to a cloister I will go,
And serve my master till I die.”
And thither little Kirstine went,
And with her all her maidens fair;
Her father and her plighted youth,
They quickly died of grief and care.
And now within the cloister wall
The beauteous little Kirstine goes;
So joyous o’er her yellow hair
The veil so long and black she throws.
* * * * *
London:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.
Edition limited to Thirty Copies.