And one night as the old woman
Was sick and ill in bed.
And pondering solely on the life
Her wicked daughter led,
She heard her footstep on the floor,
And she raised her pallid head,
And she saw her daughter, with a knife,
Approaching to her bed.
And said, My child, I'm very ill,
I have not long to live,
Now kiss my cheek, that ere I die
Thy sins I may forgive.
And the murderess bent to kiss her cheek,
And she lifted the sharp bright knife,
And the mother saw her fell intent,
And hard she begg'd for life.
But prayers would nothing her avail,
And she scream'd aloud with fear,
But the house was lone, and the piercing screams
Could reach no human ear
And though that she was sick, and old,
She struggled hard, and fought;
The murderess cut three fingers through
Ere she could reach her throat.
And the hag she held her fingers up,
The skin was mangled sore,
And they all agreed a nobler deed
Was never done before.
And she threw the fingers in the fire,
The red flame flamed high,
And round about the cauldron stout
They danced right merrily.
The third arose: She said she'd been
To holy Palestine;
And seen more blood in one short day
Than they had all seen in nine.
Now Gondoline, with fearful steps,
Drew nearer to the flame,
For much she dreaded now to hear
Her hapless lover's name.