Classic Poem

A BOUT Glenkindie and his man,
— A false ballant hath long been writ;
— Some bootless loon had written it,
Upon a bootless plan:
But I have found the true at last,
And here it is, so hold it fast!
'Twas made by a kind damosel
Who loved him and his man right well:

Glenkindie, best of harpers, came
— Unbidden to our town;
And he was sad, and sad to see,
— For love had worn him down.

It was love, as all men know,
— The love that brought him down,
The hopeless love for the King's daughter,
— The dove that heired a crown.

Now he wore not that collar of gold,
— His dress was forest green,
His wondrous fair and rich mantle
— Had lost its silvery sheen.

But still by his side walked Rafe, his boy,
— In goodly cramoisie:
Of all the boys that ever I saw,
— The goodliest boy was he.

O Rafe the page! O Rafe the page!
— Ye stole the heart frae me:
O Rafe the page! O Rafe the page!
— I wonder where ye be;
We ne'er may see Glenkindie more,
— But may we never see thee?

Glenkindie came within the hall,
— We set him on the dais,
And gave him bread, and gave him wine,
— The best in all the place.

We set for him the guest's high chair,
— And spread the naperie:
Our Dame herself would serve for him,
— And I for Rafe, perdie!

But down he sat on a low, low stool,
— And thrust his long legs out,
And leaned his back to the high chair,
— And turned his harp about.

He turned it round, he stroked the strings,
— He touched each tirling-pin,
He put his mouth to the sounding-board
— And breathed his breath therein.

And Rafe sat over against his face,
— And looked at him wistfullie:
I almost grat ere he began,
— They were so sad to see.

The very first stroke he strack that day,
— We all came crowding near;
And the second stroke he strack that day,
— We all were smit with fear.

The third stroke that he strack that day,
— Full fain we were to cry;
The fourth stroke that he strack that day,
— We thought that we would die.

No tongue can tell how sweet it was,
— How far, and yet how near,
We saw the saints in Paradise,
— And bairnies on their bier.

And our sweet Dame saw her good lord —
— She told me privilie —
She saw him as she saw him last,
— On his ship upon the sea.

Anon he laid his little harp by,
— He shut his wondrous eyes;
We stood a long time like dumb things,
— Stood in a dumb surprise.

Then all at once we left that trance,
— And shouted where we stood;
We clasped each other's hands and vowed
— We would be wise and good.

Soon he rose up and Rafe rose too,
— He drank wine and broke bread;
He clasped his hands with our trembling Dame,
— But never a word he said.
They went, — Alack and lack-a-day!
— They went the way they came.

I followed them all down the floor,
— And oh but I had drouth
To touch his cheek, to touch his hand,
— To kiss Rafe's velvet mouth!

But I knew such was not for me.
— They went straight from the door;
We saw them fade within the mist,
— And never saw them more.