Classic Poem

All shrouded in the winter snow
The maiden held her way;
Nor chilly winds that roughly blow,
Nor dark night could her stay.

O'er hill and dale, through bush and briar,
She on her journey kept;
Save often, when she gan to tire,
She stopped awhile and wept.

Wild creatures left their caverns drear,
To raise their nightly yell;
But little does the bosom fear
Where inward troubles dwell.

No watch-light from the distant spire
To cheer the gloom so deep,
Nor twinkling star, nor cottage fire,
Did through the darkness peep.

Yet heedless still she held her way,
Nor feared she crag, nor dell,
Like ghost that through the gloom to stray
Wakes with the midnight bell.

Now night through her dark watches ran,
Which lock the peaceful mind,
And through the neighbouring hamlets 'gan
To wake the yawning hind.

Yet bark of dog, nor village cock,
That spoke the morning near,
Nor gray light trembling on the rock,
Her 'nighted mind could cheer.

The whirling flail, and clacking mill,
Wake early with the day;
And careless children, loud and shrill,
With new-made snowballs play,

And as she passed each cottage-door
They did their gambols cease;
And old men shook their locks so hoar
And wished her spirit peace.

For sometimes slow, and sometimes fast,
She held her wavering pace,
Like early spring's inconstant blast
That ruffles evening's face.

At length with weary feet she came
Where in a sheltering wood,
Whose master bore no humble name,
A stately castle stood.

The open gate and smoking fires,
Which cloud the air so thin,
And shrill bell tinkling from the spires,
Bespoke a feast within.

With busy looks, and hasty tread,
The servants cross the hall,
And many a page in buskins red
Await the master's call.

Fair streaming bows of bridal white
On every shoulder played,
And clean, in lily kerchief dight,
Tripped every household maid.

She asked for neither lord nor dame,
Nor who the mansion owned,
But straight into the hall she came
And sat her on the ground.

The busy crew all crowded nigh,
And round the stranger stared;
But still she rolled her wandering eye,
Nor for their questions cared.

‘What dost thou want, thou storm-beat maid,
That thou these portals passed?
Ill suiteth here thy looks dismayed—
Thou art no bidden guest.’

‘Oh chide not’, said a gentle page,
And wiped his tear-wet cheek,
‘Who would not shun the winter's rage?—
The wind is cold and bleak!

Her robe is stiff with drizzly snow,
And rent her mantle grey—
None ever bade the wretched go
Upon his wedding-day!’

Then to his lord he hied him straight,
(Where round on silken seat
Sat many a courteous dame and knight
And made obeisance meet:

‘There is a stranger in your hall
Who wears no common mien;
Hard were the heart, as flinty wall,
That would not take her in.

A fairer dame in hall or bower
Mine eyes did ne'er behold;
Though sheltered in no father's tower,
And turned out to the cold.

Her face is like an early morn,
Dimmed with the nightly dew;
Her skin is like the sheeted thorn,
Her eyes are watery blue.

And tall and slender is her form,
Like willow o'er the brook;
But on her brow there broods a storm,
And restless is her look.

And well her troubled motions show
The tempest of her mind,
Like the unsheltered sapling-bough
Vexed with the wintry wind.

Her head droops on her ungirt breast,
And scattered is her hair;
Yet lady braced in courtly vest
Was never half so fair!’

Reverse, and cold, the turning blood
The bridegroom's cheek forsook:
He shook and staggered as he stood,
And faltered as he spoke.

‘So soft and fair I know a maid,
There is but only she;
A wretched man her love betrayed—
And wretched let him be!’

Deep frowning turned the bride's dark eye,
For bridal morn unmeet:
With trembling steps her lord did hie
The stranger fair to greet.

Though loose in scattered weeds arrayed,
And ruffled by the storm,
Like lambkin from its fellows strayed
He knew her graceful form.

But when he spied her sunken eye,
And features sharp and wan,
He heaved a deep and heavy sigh
And down the big tears ran.

‘Why droops thy head, thou lovely maid,
Upon thy hand of snow?
Is it because thy love's betrayed
That thou art brought so low?’

Quick from her eye the keen glance came,
Who questioned her to see,
And oft she muttered o'er his name—
And wist not it was he.

Full hard against his writhing brows
His clenchéd hands he prest;
Full high his labouring bosom rose,
And rent its silken vest.

‘Oh curséd be the golden price
That did my baseness prove!
And curséd be my friends' advice,
That willed me from thy love!

And curséd be the woman's art
That lured me to her snare!
And curséd be the faithless heart
That left thee to despair!

Yet now I'll hold thee to my side,
Though worthless I have been:
Nor friends, nor wealth, nor dizened bride,
Shall ever stand between.

When thou art weary and depressed
I'll lull thee to thy sleep,
And when dark fancies vex thy breast
I'll sit by thee and weep.

I'll tend thee like a restless child
Where'er thy rovings be;
Nor gesture keen, nor eyeball wild,
Shall turn my love from thee.

Night shall not hang cold o'er thy head,
And I securely lie;
Nor drizzly clouds upon thee shed,
And I in covert dry.

I'll share the cold blast on the heath,
I'll share thy wants and pain:
Nor friend nor foe, nor life nor death,
Shall ever make us twain.’