THE MAIDEN OF THE SEA.
“Al maner Mynstralcye,
“That any man kan specifye,
****
“And many unkouth notys new,
“Offe swiche folke als lovid trewe.”
John Lidgate.
O loud howls the wind o’er the blue, blue deep,
And loud on the shore the dashing waves sweep,
And merk is the night by land and by sea,
And woe to the stranger that’s out on the lea.
Closed fast is the gate of the priory hall,[360]
Unscathed stand the towers of the castle[361] so tall,
High flare the flames on the hearth-stane so wide,
But woe to the stranger that crosses the tide.
Hark! hark! at the portal who’s voice is so bold—
It cannot be open’d for silver or gold—
The foeman is near with his harrying brand,
And brent are the homes of Northumberland.
I’m no foeman, no Scot, in sooth now to say,
But a minstral who weareth the peaceful lay;
Wynken de Mowbray the Prior doth know,
Then open the gate, for the north winds blow.
Who hath not heard De Mowbray’s song?
The softest harp in the minstrel throng;
O many a true love tale can he sing,
And touch the heart with his melting string.
Now while the welkin with tempest raves,
And the angry ocean maddens his waves,
Around the hearth-stane we’ll listen to thee,
And beguile the long night with minstralcye.
O sweet and wild is the harper’s strain,
As its magic steals o’er the raptur’d brain,
And hush’d is the crowd of hearers all,
As thronged they sit in the priory hall.