And in one, joy is exultant—
For this day the manly heir
Of Sir Francis Leke is wedded—
Wedded too, his daughter fair.
Age rejoices; in the Mansion
Rural hinds find wassail cheer;
And bright troops of Knights and Ladies,
Crowd the Hall from far and near.
Who is this in weeds unseemly,
Half a man that seems, half beast,
Who obtrudes himself unbidden
On the merry marriage feast?
Hermit is he, or some Pilgrim,
Entering boldly his own cell?
No,—he lacks those ancient symbols,
Sandal-shoon, and scallop shell.
All the youngsters titter; anger
Flushes cheeks austere and cold:
Whilst the aged look complacent
On a beggar that is bold.
"Bear this Ring unto your Mistress,"
To a Page Sir Francis cried;
And his words emphatic uttered
Rung throughout the dwelling wide.
One there is—an age-blind servant—
Who in darkness sits apart—
Carried forth to feel the sunshine—
She has heard him in her heart;
And in agony of gladness,
At that voice so long desired,
She has loudly named her Master—
And then instantly expired.
Pensive in her room, the Matron
Grieved—but distant from the crowd;
She would not with selfish sorrow
Their bright countenances cloud.
There her Ring receiving; Lucy
Knew the sender of her gift,
And, it seemed, by feet unaided,
To him she descended swift.