IT LADY CLARE. T was the time when lilies blow, And clouds are highest up in air, Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe To give his cousin, Lady Clare. I trow they did not part in scorn : "He does not love me for my birth, In there came old Alice the nurse, Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me." "O God be thank'd!" said Alice the nurse, "That all comes round so just and fair: Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands, And you are not the Lady Clare.” "Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?" Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?" "As God's above," said Alice the nurse, "I speak the truth: you are my child. "The old Earl's daughter died at my breast; "Falsely, falsely have ye done, O mother," she said, "if this be true, Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse, And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, "If I'm a beggar born," she said, Pull off, pull off, the broach of gold, "Nay now, my child,” said Alice the nurse, "Nay now, what faith?" said Alice the nurse, 66 "The man will cleave unto his right.” And he shall have it," the lady replied, “Tho' I should die to-night.” “Yet give one kiss to your mother dear! "Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear, She clad herself in a russet gown, The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, Down stept Lord Ronald from his tower: "O Lady Clare, you shame your worth! Why come you drest like a village maid, That are the flower of the earth?" "If I come drest like a village maid, "Play me no tricks,” said Lord Ronald, O and proudly stood she up! Her heart within her did not fail: She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, And told him all her nurse's tale. He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn: He turn'd, and kiss'd her where she stood: "If you are not the heiress born, And I," said he, "the next in blood "If you are not the heiress born, THE LORD OF BURLEIGH. N her ear he whispers gaily, IN "If my heart by signs can tell, She replies, in accents fainter, And they leave her father's roof. Love will make our cottage pleasant, Summer woods, about them blowing, Lay betwixt his home and hers; Built for pleasure and for state. Where they twain will spend their days. O but she will love him truly! He shall have a cheerful home; She will order all things duly, When beneath his roof they come.. Thus her heart rejoices greatly, Till a gateway she discerns With armorial bearings stately, And beneath the gate she turns; Sees a mansion more majestic Many a gallant gay domestic Bows before him at the door. |