The younger maids with Isabel
Disported through the bowers,
And decked her robe, and crowned her head
With motley bridal flowers.
The matrons all in rich attire,
Within the castle walls,
Sat listening to the choral strains
That echoed, through the halls.
Young Rupert and his friends repaired
Unto a spacious court,
To strike the bounding tennis-ball
In feat and manly sport.
The bridegroom on his finger wore
The wedding-ring so bright,
Which was to grace the lily hand
Of Isabel that night.
And fearing he might break the gem,
Or lose it in the play,
Hie looked around the court, to see
Where he the ring might lay.
Now, in the court a statue stood,
Which there full long had been;
It might a Heathen goddess be,
Or else, a Heathen queen.
Upon its marble finger then
He tried the ring to fit;
And, thinking it was safest there,
Thereon he fastened it.
And now the tennis sports went on,
Till they were wearied all,
And messengers announced to them
Their dinner in the hall,
Young Rupert for his wedding-ring
Unto the statue went;
But, oh, how shocked was he to find
The marble finger bent!
The hand was closed upon the ring
With firm and mighty clasp;
In vain he tried and tried and tried,
He could not loose the grasp!