Classic Poem

“Hither, come hither, my little foot-page,
Tell quickly me what ye bear;
O pant at my feet for ye've been fleet
As the quarry chased down to its lair,
The message ye gave to his Mother?—
Ye pluckt the white flower with care?
What said she?—How look'd she?—What did she?
I see that woman stare!”

“The ferny coverts were wan [?] with Dawn
As I came to her Castle bower,
O ghostly gray in the ruddy ray
Stood up the turret tower.
I strove to speak, but her presence
Was like a witch's power;
I could do nought but kneel, Lady!
And hand her the white wild flower.”

“How look'd she, how look'd she, my little foot-page,
How look'd she at the sight?—”
“—O pale she turn'd, and red she burn'd,
And like as winter, white,
She seized, and shook the blossom;
As a wind shakes reeds at night;
When thunder tramps the louring hills
And the sky loses light by light.—”

“What said she, what said she; my little foot-page,
What said she at the sign?—”
“‘O—I have heard of an ill-loved bird
That sends the foaming brine:
The mariner's wraith walks round it,
And the winds before it whine
And the tempest sure will follow, follow—’
This said she at the sign.”

—“What did she, what did she, my little foot-page,
When she knew—O what did she?—”
“Like a hollow cave to the ebbing wave
She moan'd, and rock'd her knee.
Her chin began to shiver,
She opened her eyes on me
Then smoothed aside her thin grey locks
With fingers wan to see.”

“Give ear, give ear, my loved lad,
I will calm thee with a kiss.
My loved lad, a love I had
Not like to ye in this.
Nay, never jar so harshly
The brow I smoothed with bliss:
He knows no longer my warm lip
From the chilly worm's, I wis.

Tis over, tis over, my little foot-page,
Tis over & 'tis done.
I swore it so, to bring her low,
And yet our wail is one.
And you must weep, young Maxwell!
Because our woe is one.
For you a brother, & I a lover,
And she has lost a son!

My little foot-page, my little foot-page,
Away & learn to hate:
Go, fly to her knee, & speak of me
As hell's own fitting mate.
I stole you when an infant,
I stole you from her gate:
O love & life, O life & love,
You join your hands too late!