" HERE , O lily-white lady mine,
Here by thy warrior sire's own shrine,
Handsel I thee by this golden sign,
This sunshiny thing. "
Weeping she reached her hand so slim,
Smiled, though her eyes were wet and dim,
Saying: " I swear, by Heaven, by him,
And by this handsel ring! "

But as she bended her eyes abashed,
Out of his fingers the jewel flashed,
On the gray flags of the kirk it clashed,
That treacherous thing;
Clashed, and bounded, and circled, and sped,
Till through a crevice it flamed and fled, —
Down in the tomb of the knightly dead
Darted the handsel ring.

" Matters not, darling! Ere day be o'er,
Goldsmiths shall forge for thy hands a score;
Let not thy heart be harried and sore
For a little thing! "
" Nay! but behold what broodeth there!
See the cold sheen of his silvery hair!
Look how his eyeballs roll and stare,
Seeking thy handsel ring! "

" I see nothing, my precious, my own!
'Tis a black vision that sorrow hath sown;
Haste, let us hence, for dark it hath grown,
And moths are on wing. "
" Nay, but his shrunken fist, behold,
Looses his lance-hilt and scatters the mould!
What is that his long fingers hold?
Christ! 't is our handsel ring! "

And when the bridegroom bends over her,
Neither the lips nor the eyelids stir;
Naught to her, now, but music and myrrh, —
Needless his handsel ring.