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O, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as
sweet as May,

And said, "Now, lady of my heart, attend the words

I say.


"'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's mine;

Here shalt thou dwell the while in statc, so thou wilt pledge thy fay,

That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day."


Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer,

"Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here;

And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway,

And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away?"


Out spoke the noble Moringer, "Of that have thou no


There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair;

The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my


And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely



"As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight,

When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight;

And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were

sorrow now,

But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow."


It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune,

And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown:

He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with miniver,

He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his forchead fair.


"Now hear," he said, "Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine,

And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine,

For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train,

And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again."


The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he,

"Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me;

That woman's faith's a brittle trust-Seven twelvemonths didst thou say?

I'll pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day."


The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was full of care,

His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir,

To whom he spoke right anxiously, "Thou trusty squire to me,

Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea?


"To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land,

And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band; And pledge thee for my Lady's faith, till seven long years are gone,

And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint


VOL. 1.27


Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and


And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue;


"My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend,

And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end.


"Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried,

To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride;

And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear,

I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year."


The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak,

And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his check;

A long adieu be bids to all-hoist topsails, and away, And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day.


It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept,
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision


And whisper'd in his car a voice, ""Tis time, Sir
Knight, to wake,

Thy lady and thy heritage another master take.

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"Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another


And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train;

And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstetten's heir.


It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, "Oh would that I had ne'er been born! what tidings have I heard!

To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be

my care,

But, God! that e'er a squire untrue, should wed my Lady fair.


"O good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd, "my patron Saint art thou,

A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my


My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name, And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame."


It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer,

And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd

his care;

He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a


High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. fff

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