ΤΟ TRU THOMAS RYMER RUE Thomas lay oer yond grassy bank, A ladie that was brisk and bold, Come riding oer the fernie brae. Her skirt was of the grass-green silk, Hung fifty silver bells and nine. True Thomas he took off his hat, And bowed him low down till his knee: "All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For your peer on earth I never did see." "O no, O no, True Thomas," she says, I am but the queen of fair Elfland, And I'm come here for to visit thee. "Harp and carp, Thomas," she said, Sure of your bodie I will be." "Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never daunton me;" All underneath the Eildon Tree. Brae: hill Syne: then Weird: fate "But ye maun go wi me now, Thomas, Thro weel or wae as may chance to be." She turned about her milk-white steed, The steed flew swifter than the wind. For forty days and forty nights He wade thro red blude to the knee, O they rade on, and further on, "O no, O no, True Thomas," she says, For a' the plagues that are in hell Light on the fruit of this countric. "But I have a loaf here in my lap, Likewise a bottle of claret wine, And now ere we go farther on, We'll rest awhile, and ye may dine." When he had eaten and drunk his fill, Fairlies: wonders "O see not ye yon narrow road, So thick beset wi thorns and briers? "And see not ye that braid, braid road Tho some call it the road to heaven. "And see not ye that bonny road Where you and I this night maun gae. "But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 1 For gin ae word you should chance to speak, You will neer get back to your ain countrie." He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, Old Ballad Even: smooth Leven: glade Lillie: lovely LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms, The sedge has withered from the lake, O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! And the harvest's done. I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever dew, I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful-a faery's child, I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A faery's song. She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew, And sure in language strange she said— "I love thee true." She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. And there she lullèd me asleep, And there I dreamed-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill's side. I saw pale kings and princes too, I saw their starved lips in the gloam, On the cold hill's side. And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, John Keats |