"Last eve, with my maids, I left my home,
Singing our songs in gay refrain;
Seeking wild flowers, I wandered alone
Over hill, over dale, and plain.
Laughingly trod we the dewy mead,
Lit by the rays of the evening star;
But sadly I've spent the weary day,
For, ah me! I have wandered far.'
"I know not thy home," the young knight said,
"Else in honour I'd bear thee there;
Tho' never below the glorious sky
Have I seen one so passing fair.
Much have I mingled in court and camp,
In revel, in tourney and strife,
But never, till now, have mine eyes beheld
A maid I could love as my wife."
Quickly the warrior lighted him down—
"Lady," he said, "my halls are near;
Come to my arms—I'll carry thee home,
And ye shall be my peerless fere."
"Gramercy, my lord," the maiden said;
"Willingly shall I go with thee;
And I'll be to thee a leal, true wife—
Thou shalt be 'all the world to me.'"
Around her form his arms he flung,
To kiss her lips so cherry bright,
But nothing he held, for the sylph-like form
Ethereal prov'd as a stream of light.
"Lady," he said, "this is passing strange!
Thour't there!—I see thy curls of gold,
I see the flash of thy lustrous eyes,
But I cannot thy form enfold."
"My form is of air, so virgin pure
By mortal it cannot be press'd
Till by the cross of his sword he swear
Alone I shall dwell in his breast."
Then he bent him low before the cross,
And he vowed, by all he held dear,
That ever he'd prove her own true lord,
And only she his much loved fere.
"Now, come to my arms, thou beauteous fair,"
And he grasped her fondly and fast,
Kissing her lips, grown woman again,
Fearing his joy too great to last.
"I'm thine, only thine, mine own dear lord,
Never again to roam apart;
Oh! let me nestle within thine arms,
Let me live in thine inmost heart."
He lifted her on the saddle-bow
Of his gallant roan, standing near,
And proudly it shook its stately head
As her voice fell soft on its ear.
In triumph it bore them fleetly home;
And the liegemen for years could tell
How the old halls rung with "welcomes home"
To Lord Hay and fair Claribel.
Revelry rang in that castle old,
And oft they pledged him deep and free;
And much they talked of his prowess bold,
And his truth and his braverie.
But more they spoke of his fair, fair bride,
And her beauty so wondrous bright;
Lighting his halls like the sun's first rays
Dispersing the shadows of night.
Long, long did they mourn in Fairyland
For the Princess, dear Claribel;
Long was she missed in revel and court,
In palace and bower and dell.
But oft, when hidden among the flowers,
Watching the lovers in dalliance gay,
The fairy maidens would whisper low,
"Would we were but as Lady Hay!"