XXXIII THE PALMER 'Open the door, some pity to show! 'No outlaw seeks your castle gate, 'A weary Palmer worn and weak, O, open, for Our Lady's sake! The hare is crouching in her form, The hart beside the hind; An aged man, amid the storm, No shelter can I find. "You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, Unless you pity me. 'The iron gate is bolted hard, E 'Farewell, farewell! and Heaven grant, When old and frail you be, You never may the shelter want, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, For lo, when through the vapours dank A corpse, amid the alders rank, The Palmer welter'd there. Sir W. Scott XXXIV THE FORSAKEN MERMAN Come dear children, let us away; Now my brothers call from the bay; Now the wild white horses play, This way, this way, Call her once before you go. In a voice that she will know : 'Margaret! Margaret!' Children's voices should be dear Surely she will come again. 'Mother dear, we cannot stay.' Come dear children, come away down. One last look at the white-walled town, She will not come though you call all day. Children dear, was it yesterday We heard the sweet bells over the bay? Through the surf and through the swell, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea. She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, In the little grey church on the shore to-day. Children dear, were we long alone? 'The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan; Long prayers,' I said, 'in the world they say.' 'Come,' I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. We went up the beach in the sandy down Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-walled town, Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still To the little grey church on the windy hill. From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. We climb'd on the graves on the stones worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes. She sat by the pillar; we saw her clear; ‘Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. Dear heart,' I said, 'we are here alone. The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan.' But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book. 'Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door. Come away, children, call no more, Come away, come down, call no more. Down, down, down, Down to the depths of the sea, She sits at her wheel in the humming town, Hark what she sings: 'O joy, O joy, From the humming street, and the child with its toy, From the priest and the bell, and the holy well, From the wheel where I spun, And the blessed light of the sun.' And so she sings her fill, Singing most joyfully, Till the shuttle falls from her hand, And the whizzing wheel stands still. She steals to the window and looks at the sand; And her eyes are set in a stare ; A long, long sigh, |