Classic Poem

A gallant youth on the high mountains,
Far off hears the church bells ring;
“For my bride they must be sounding,
Carried to her burying.”

The gallant youth, returning homeward,
Finds his own door bolted fast:
“O my neighbors, my dear neighbors,
Who has seen my sweet wife last?”

“Your sweet bride, so fair attended,
To the church has gone to-day;
Two and fifty flaming torches
Lighted her along the way.”

To the church has gone the gallant,
Loud he calls upon his dead:
With loud voice he called unto her,
With soft voice she answerèd.

“Thine own ring as when we wedded,
Still upon my finger, see;
Take it, wed with it another;
Bid her pray to God for me.

“Tell her that she must be saying
Every day her rosary,
Twice a day for herself praying,
Praying the third time for me.”