Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. II. Love
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Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love.  1904.
 
IV. Wooing and Winning
The Friar of Orders Gray
Thomas Percy (1729–1811)
 
Adapted from old ballads

IT was a friar of orders gray
  Walked forth to tell his beads;
And he met with a lady fair
  Clad in a pilgrim’s weeds.
 
“Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar;        5
  I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine
  My true-love thou didst see.”
 
“And how should I know your true-love
  From many another one?”        10
“O, by his cockle hat, and staff,
  And by his sandal shoon.
 
“But chiefly by his face and mien,
  That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curled,        15
  And eyes of lovely blue.”
 
“O lady, he is dead and gone!
  Lady, he ’s dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turf,
  And at his heels a stone.        20
 
“Within these holy cloisters long
  He languished, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady’s love,
  And ’plaining of her pride.
 
“Here bore him barefaced on his bier        25
  Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedewed his grave
  Within yon kirkyard wall.”
 
“And art thou dead, thou gentle youth?
  And art thou dead and gone?        30
And didst thou die for love of me?
  Break, cruel heart of stone!”
 
“O, weep not, lady, weep not so;
  Some ghostly comfort seek;
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,        35
  Nor tears bedew thy cheek.”
 
“O, do not, do not, holy friar,
  My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth
  That e’er won lady’s love.        40
 
“And now, alas! for thy sad loss
  I ’ll evermore weep and sigh;
For thee I only wished to live,
  For thee I wish to die.”
 
“Weep no more, lady, weep no more,        45
  Thy sorrow is in vain;
For violets plucked, the sweetest showers
  Will ne’er make grow again.
 
“Our joys as wingèd dreams do fly;
  Why then should sorrow last?        50
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;
For since my true-love died for me,        55
  ’T is meet my tears should flow.
 
“And will he never come again?
  Will he ne’er come again?
Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave,
  Forever to remain.        60
 
“His cheek was redder than the rose;
  The comeliest youth was he!
But he is dead and laid in his grave:
  Alas, and woe is me!”
 
“Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,        65
  Men were deceivers ever:
One foot on sea and one on land,
  To one thing constant never.
 
“Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
  And left thee sad and heavy;        70
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;
My love he had the truest heart,        75
  O, he was ever true!
 
“And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth,
  And didst thou die for me?
Then farewell home; for evermore
  A pilgrim I will be.        80
 
“But first upon my true-love’s grave
  My weary limbs I ’ll lay,
And thrice I ’ll kiss the green-grass turf
  That wraps his breathless clay.”
 
“Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile        85
  Beneath this cloister wall;
The cold wind through the hawthorn blows,
  And drizzly rain doth fall.”
 
“O, stay me not, thou holy friar,
  O, stay me not, I pray,        90
No drizzly rain that falls on me
  Can wash my fault away.”
 
“Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
  And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray        95
  Thy own true-love appears.
 
“Here forced by grief and hopeless love,
  These holy weeds I sought;
And here, amid these lonely walls,
  To end my days I thought.        100
 
“But haply, for my year of grace
  Is not yet passed away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
  No longer would I stay.”
 
“Now farewell grief, and welcome joy        105
  Once more unto my heart;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
  We nevermore will part.”
 
 
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