He's just the man I think would suit,
If I could bring my courage to't."
With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd;
The dame, they say, who doubts is lost:
"But then the risk? I'll beg a slice
Of Father Rantin's good advice."
Prankt in her best, with looks demure,
She seeks the priest, and to be sure
Asks if he thinks she ought to wed.
"With such a business on my head
I'm worried off my legs with care,
And need some help to keep things square:
I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell;
He's steady, knows his business well.
What do you think?" When thus he met her
"Oh, take him, dear; you can't do better."
"But then the danger, my good pastor,
If of the man I make the master:
There is no trusting to these men."
"Well, well, my dear, don't have him then."
"But help I must have; there's the curse:
I may go farther, and fare worse."
"Why take him, then." "But if he should
Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good;
In drink and riot waste my all,
And rout me out of house and hall."
"Don't have him, then. But I've a plan
To clear your doubts, if any can.
The bells a peal are ringing,-hark!
Go straight, and what they tell you, mark.
If they say 'Yes,' wed, and be blest;
If' No,' why-do as you think best."
The bells rung out a triple bob;
Oh, how our widow's heart did throb,
As thus she heard their burden go!
"Marry, mar-marry, mar, mar—
The bells were not left to hang idle,
A week, and they rang for her bridal;
But woe the while, they might as well
Have rung the poor dame's parting knell :
The rosy dimples left her cheek;
She lost her beauties plump and sleek,
For Guillot oftener kick'd than kiss'd,
And back'd his orders with his fist,
Proving by deeds, as well as words,
That servants make the worst of lords.
She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak,
And speaks as angry women speak,
With tiger looks, and bosom swelling,
Cursing the hour she took his telling.
To all, his calm reply was this:-
"I fear you've read the bells amiss ;
If they have led you wrong in aught,
Your wish, not they, inspired the thought:
Just go, and mark well what they say."
Off trudged the dame upon her way,
And sure enough their chime went so,—
'Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot!"
"Too true!" she cried; "there's not a doubt: What could my ears have been about ?" She had forgot, that as fools think,
The bell is ever sure to chink.
MERRY it is in the good green wood
When the mavis and merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
Oh, Alice Brand! my native land
Is lost for love of you,
And we must hold by wood and wold
As outlaws wont to do.
"Oh, Alice! 'twas all for thy looks so bright,
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight
Thy brother bold I slew.
"Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.
"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer,
To keep the cold away."
"Oh, Richard! if my brother died,
'Twas but a fatal chance,
For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.
"If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm we'll say is the russet gray,
As gay the forest green.
'And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing,
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing.
Up spoke the moody elfin king,
Who wonn'd within the hill
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill.
"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen,
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our elfin queen,
Or who may dare on wold to wear,
The fairy's fatal green?
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christen'd man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For mutter'd word or ban.
"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye,
Till he wish and pray that his life would part,
Nor yet find leave to die."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood,
Though the birds have still'd their singing,
The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf
Before Lord Richard stands,
But as he cross'd and bless'd himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
That is made with bloody hands!"
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand-
That woman void of fear-
"And if there's blood upon his hand,
'Tis but the blood of deer."
"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand."
Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign-
"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
A spotless hand is mine.
"And I conjure thee, demon elf,
By Him whom demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself,
And what thine errand here."
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