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Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,
I pray thee tell to me,
My true love thou did’st see.
And how should I know your true love
From many another one? - -
And by his sandal shoon.
But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
And eyne of lovely blue,
O lady he is dead and gone ! . . .
Lady he's dead and gone ! :".
And at his heels a stone. > *
!bisové . Within these holy cloisters long ; : 'spiHe languish?d, and he died, "?si.
Laménting of a lady's love,'; s . 1..3 And 'plaining of her pride. 2, 01705P
11* These are the distinguishing marks of a Pilgrim. The chief places of devotion being beyond the sea, the pilgrims were wout to put cockle-shells in their hats to denote the intention, or performance of their devotion..
Here bore him barefac'à on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
Within yon kirk-yard wall.
And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! · And art thou dead and gone! ! And did'st thou die for love of me !
Break, cruel heart of stone !
Oweep not, lady, weep not so;
Some ghostly comfort seek :
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.
O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove ;
That e'er won lady's love.
And now, alas ! for thy sad loss
I'll evermore weep and sigh ; For thee I only wish'd to live,
For thee I wish to die.
Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain : For, violets pluck'd the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.
Our joys as winged dreams do fly,
Why then should sorrow last ? Since grief but aggravates thy loss,
Grieve not for what is past.
O say not so, thou holy friar;
I pray thee, say not so :
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
And will he ne'er come again?
Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
His cheek was redder than the rose,
The com’liest youth was he:
Alas! and woe is me! :
Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever :
To one thing constant never.
Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy.
Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not so ;
O he was ever true!
And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,
A pilgrim I will be.
But first upon my true love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
That wraps his breathless clay.
Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile
Beneath this cloister wall : See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall.
O stay me not, thou holy friar;
O stay me not, I pray;
Can wash my fault away.
Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears ;
Thy own true love appears.
Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love
These holy weeds I sought: And here amid these lonely walls
To end my days I thought. .
But haply for my year of grace*
Is not yet pass'd away,
No longer would I stay.
Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart; For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.
TURN, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way, ' To where yon taper cheers the vale, · With hospitable ray.
* The year of probation, or noviciate.