| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1034. The Handsel Ring |
| | | By George Houghton |
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| “HERE, O lily-white lady mine, | |
| Here by thy warrior sire’s own shrine, | |
| Handsel I thee by this golden sign, | |
| This sunshiny thing.” | |
| Weeping she reached her hand so slim, | 5 |
| Smiled, though her eyes were wet and dim, | |
| Saying: “I swear, by Heaven, by him, | |
| And by this handsel ring!” | |
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| But as she bended her eyes abashed, | |
| Out of his fingers the jewel flashed, | 10 |
| On the gray flags of the kirk it clashed, | |
| That treacherous thing; | |
| Clashed, and bounded, and circled, and sped, | |
| Till through a crevice it flamed and fled,— | |
| Down in the tomb of the knightly dead | 15 |
| Darted the handsel ring. | |
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| “Matters not, darling! Ere day be o’er, | |
| Goldsmiths shall forge for thy hands a score; | |
| Let not thy heart be harried and sore | |
| For a little thing!” | 20 |
| “Nay! but behold what broodeth there! | |
| See the cold sheen of his silvery hair! | |
| Look how his eyeballs roll and stare, | |
| Seeking thy handsel ring!” | |
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| “I see nothing, my precious, my own! | 25 |
| ’T is a black vision that sorrow hath sown; | |
| Haste, let us hence, for dark it hath grown, | |
| And moths are on wing.” | |
| “Nay, but his shrunken fist, behold, | |
| Looses his lance-hilt and scatters the mould! | 30 |
| What is that his long fingers hold? | |
| Christ! ’t is our handsel ring!” | |
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| And when the bridegroom bends over her, | |
| Neither the lips nor the eyelids stir; | |
| Naught to her, now, but music and myrrh,— | 35 |
| Needless his handsel ring. | |
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