Classic Poem

( FROM THE DANISH .)

With Sir Peter at wine Sir Bender sat,
Said Sir Bender, " I wager securely,
Though your singing compel all the world beside,
Dame Mette withstandeth it surely. "

To which Sir Peter: " I'll lay my horse
Against your hounds, Sir Bender,
Dame Mette will hie to my hall this night:
'Tis thither my song will send her. "

And lo! when the hour of midnight fell,
Sir Peter began his singing;
Over the water, and over the wood
His notes came sweetly ringing.

Hushed is the river, the listening pines
Are mute where the forests darken,
The pale moon trembles above in heaven,
The stars with their wise ears hearken.

Dame Mette has heard it; she starts from her sleep:
" What singer without is wooing! "
She draws on her gown and forth she steps —
She hastens to her undoing.

And through the water, and through the wood,
She wanders far and fleetly;
'Twas Sir Peter who drew her for doom to his house,
With the song he sang so sweetly.

And when she returned by the morning light,
At his door Sir Bender sought her;
" Oh, where have you been, Dame Mette, this night?
Your kirtle is full of water. "

" I have been to the pool where the witches dwell,
Who the future dark uncover;
And there, by the teasing water-sprites,
I was wet and sprinkled over. "

" The sand by the witches' pool is soft,
Not thither, I ween, your going;
For wounded and bloody are both your feet,
And your face with blood is flowing. "

" I have been to-night to the elfin wood,
To watch the fairies dancing,
And there I wounded face and feet,
'Gainst boughs and brambles chancing. "

" The elves, they dance in the month of May
On the smooth and flowery meadows;
But the winds of autumn are blowing cold,
They howl in the forest shadows. "

" By Peter Nielson I've been this night;
He sang a song of wonder,
And through the water, and through the wood
He drew me to him yonder.

" The notes he sang are as strong as death,
In my bosom they burn and sigh now;
They drew me to death and a doom of woe;
I know that I must die now. "

The minster door is hung with black,
There's mournful music rolling;
For Dame Mette, who came to a pitiful end,
The passing bell is tolling.

Sir Bender he stood beside the bier,
And a sorrowful sighing made he:
" Alack! I have lost my faithful hounds,
And eke my lovely ladye. "