Story and Song of Black Roderick | Page 7

I sing, for his voice was sweeter than prose:
_"Oh, brother, brother, come up to the lake waters gray, Come up to the shore where I play; For, oh! I saw on the bank asleep A fair white nymph, and the slow waves creep, To bear her away, away._
_"Oh, brother, brother, I watched her through the day, Saw her hair grow jewelled with spray. Once her cheek was brushed by a robin's wing, And a finch flew down on her hand to sing, And was not afraid to stay._
_"Oh, brother, brother, will she soon awaken be? I would that she laugh with me. She sleeps, and the world so full of sound; She's deaf, like the deaths that are under the ground, That I laugh and laugh to see."_
Now shall I tell how the Black Earl heeded not the story of the little brother, nor the tragedy that lay therein, for his ear was busy with another sound.
"Hush," said the Black Earl, "for hearest thou not a voice in trouble?"
"Nay," cried the little brother; "I hear naught save the laughing stream that comes from the lake where my water-nymph lieth."
"Hush!" said the Black Earl again, "for hearest thou not the voice of my mistress making a lamentation?"
"Nay," saith the little brother; "I hear naught save the moving of the reeds in the pushing waters, and thou wilt not listen to my story."
Now went the little brother away in his anger, and found himself a play among the heather.
But the Black Earl bent above the stream and gazed long into its shallow turbulence with wonder and fear, for the words the stream said to him in its whisperings were as though spoken in the voice of his young bride.
He laid his hand in the flowing waters.
"Why art thou troubled, little stream?" quoth he.
But the little stream stayed not its whispering.
"Sainted Mother, oh, pray for me!" it murmured, in piteous prayer, "and leave sweet mercy upon my soul."
Now, when the Black Earl heard the voice of his lady coming from the waters in such sorrow, he rose with a cry, and, his heart being full of fear, he knew at last the greatness of his love.
"Where art thou, then?" he cried, in his woe. "Whither shall I seek thee?"
But the little stream passing his feet murmured its prayer in going; no other sound did he hear save the far-away laughter of his little brother.
"Oh, Mary, Mother, pray my soul to rest! Take mercy, Lord, on a soul afraid."
"Where are the lips from which thou hast stolen that cry?" said the Black Earl; and, like an old man bent with trouble, he sought the banks, seeking for the white form of his bride. "Now," quoth he, "well do I know this stream hath carried her last cry to my feet, and her drowning lips have been forced to sinful death to-night by my long cruelty."
He went up the hill as a man goeth to despair, slow and afraid; and when he reached the little wood in whose bosom the lake was enshrined, he paused and looked around.
Of this shall I sing, for so sad and piteous it is that my harp would fain soothe me from tears:
_He looked into the deep wood green, But nothing there did see; He looked into the still water Beneath, all white, lay she._
_He drew her from her cold, cold bed, And kissed her cheek and chin; Loosed from his neck his silken cloak, To wrap her body in._
_He took her up in his two arms-- His grief was deep and wild; He knelt beside her on the sod, And sorrowed like a child._
_He blew three blasts upon his horn; His men did make reply, And came all quickly to his call, Through brake and brier so high._
_And every man who saw her there Went down upon his knee; Behind her came Earl Roderick, All pitiful to see._
_And in his trembling hand the helm From his uncovered brow; And "Oh," he said, "to love her well, And know it only now!"_
_So he did walk while she did ride Through all the town away, For greater than Earl Roderick She did become that day._
Now have I said how the heart of the Black Earl woke to love, and then was humbled, as the ancient crone had foretold; but of his sorrowful years, his desperate danger of eternal loss and his after-salvation, must I likewise tell, if the story would be pitiful in the ending.
Therefore shall I lay my harp aside, and so go back in my telling.
And I bid thee remember how the little pale bride was wont to sit upon the mountain and watch the far lights in her father's home quench themselves one by one.
So now of how she died shall I tell thee, and of what came