Classic Poem

Three damsels from the castle
Gazed down the winding vale;
Fast rode their father homeward,
He wore his coat of mail.
“O welcome, welcome, father dear!
What bring'st thou for thy children,
Who all thy hests revere?”

“My child i' the yellow garment,
Of thee I've thought today!
Thy joy is all in trinkets,
Thou lov'st to make thee gay.
Behold this chain of gold so red!
From yonder knight I took it,
For this I struck him dead.”

Around her neck the damsel
The necklace quickly bound;
Then tow'rds the spot she wandered,
The corse she soon hath found.
“Thou—like a thief—liest murdered here,
That wast a knight so noble,
That wast my lover dear!”

Then in her arms she bore him
To the churchyard's sacred shade;
Where slept his noble fathers,
The corse she gently laid.
Then tightly round her neck she pressed
The chain, now doubly fatal,
And sank upon his breast.

Two damsels from the castle
Gazed down the winding vale;
Fast rode their father homeward,
He wore his coat of mail.
“O welcome, welcome, father dear!
What bring'st thou for thy children
Who all thy hests revere?”

“My child i' the leaf-green garment,
Of thee I've thought today;
Thy joy is placed in hunting
By sun's or moonlight's ray.
By thong of gold this spear is sped;
'Twas borne by yon wild huntsman,
For this I struck him dead.”

She took her father's present,
Her hands the spear embrace;
Then turned she tow'rd the forest,
Death called her to the chase!
There, 'neath the linden's chilly shade,
His faithful brach beside him,
Her love in sleep was laid.

“I promised 'neath the linden
To meet thee; I am here!”
Then in her breast, despairing,
She drove the fatal spear.
In slumber cool they rested well;
Above them sang the ringdoves,
Green leaves upon them fell.

One damsel from the castle
Gazed down the winding vale;
Fast homeward rode her father,
He wore his coat of mail.
“O welcome, welcome, father dear!
What bring'st thou for thy darling
Who holds thy words in fear?”

“My child i' the silver garment,
Of thee I've thought to-day;
Thou lovest more bright flowers
Than gold or rich array.
This flower, with silver leaves outspread,
I took from yon bold gardener,
For this I struck him dead!”

“Why, why was he so daring?
Him wherefore didst thou slay?
His care the flowerets tended
That now must droop for aye!
He promised that the fairest flower
That grew within his garden
Should be his true love's dower.”

Upon her gentle bosom
She laid the blossom white,
Then wandered to the garden
Erewhile her chief delight.
There rose a hillock, fresh and green;
There, by the snowy lilies,
She sat with tearful mien.

“O could I like my sisters
Now cause my life to fail—
How shall this blossom wound me?
'Tis all too weak and frail!”
She gazed upon it, pale and wan,
Until its bloom was withered—
Until her life was gone!