| |
| IN the hall the coffin waits, and the idle armourer stands. | |
| At his belt the coffin nails, and the hammer in his hands. | |
| The bed of state is hung with crape—the grand old bed where she was wed— | |
| And like an upright corpse she sitteth gazing dumbly at the bed. | |
| Hour by hour her serving-men enter by the curtain’d door, | 5 |
| And with steps of muffled woe pass breathless o’er the silent floor, | |
| And marshal mutely round, and look from each to each with eyelids red; | |
| ‘Touch him not,’ she shriek’d and cried, ‘he is but newly dead!’ | |
| ‘O my own dear mistress,’ the ancient Nurse did say, | |
| ‘Seven long days and seven long nights you have watch’d him where he lay.’ | 10 |
| ‘Seven long days and seven long nights’, the hoary Steward said; | |
| ‘Seven long days and seven long nights’, groan’d the Warrener grey; | |
| ‘Seven’, said the old Henchman, and bow’d his agèd head; | |
| ‘On your lives!’ she shriek’d and cried, ‘he is but newly dead!’ | |
| Then a father Priest they sought, | 15 |
| The Priest that taught her all she knew, | |
| And they told him of her loss. | |
| ‘For she is mild and sweet of will, | |
| She loved him, and his words are peace, | |
| And he shall heal her ill.’ | 20 |
| But her watch she did not cease. | |
| He bless’d her where she sat distraught, | |
| And show’d her holy cross,— | |
| The cross she kiss’d from year to year— | |
| But she neither saw nor heard; | 25 |
| And said he in her deaf ear | |
| All he had been wont to teach, | |
| All she had been fond to hear, | |
| Missall’d prayer, and solemn speech, | |
| But she answer’d not a word. | 30 |
| Only when he turn’d to speak with those who wept about the bed, | |
| ‘On your lives!’ she shriek’d and cried, ‘he is but newly dead!’ | |
| Then how sadly he turn’d from her, it were wonderful to tell, | |
| And he stood beside the death-bed as by one who slumbers well, | |
| And he lean’d o’er him who lay there, and in cautious whisper low, | 35 |
| ‘He is not dead, but sleepeth’, said the Priest, and smooth’d his brow. | |
| ‘Sleepeth?’ said she, looking up, and the sun rose in her face! | |
| ‘He must be better than I thought, for the sleep is very sound.’ | |
| ‘He is better’, said the Priest, and call’d her maidens round. | |
| With them came that ancient dame who nursed her when a child; | 40 |
| ‘O Nurse!’ she sigh’d, ‘O Nurse!’ she cried, ‘O Nurse!’ and then she smiled, | |
| And then she wept; with that they drew | |
| About her, as of old; | |
| Her dying eyes were sweet and blue, | |
| Her trembling touch was cold; | 45 |
| But she said, ‘My maidens true, | |
| No more weeping and well-away; | |
| Let them kill the feast. | |
| I would be happy in my soul. | |
| “He is better”, saith the Priest; | 50 |
| He did but sleep the weary day, | |
| And will waken whole. | |
| Carry me to his dear side, | |
| And let the halls be trim; | |
| Whistly, whistly,’ said she, | 55 |
| ‘I am wan with watching and wail, | |
| He must not wake to see me pale, | |
| Let me sleep with him. | |
| See you keep the tryst for me, | |
| I would rest till he awake | 60 |
| And rise up like a bride. | |
| But whistly, whistly!’ said she. | |
| ‘Yet rejoice your Lord doth live; | |
| And for His dear sake | |
| Say Laus, Domine.’ | 65 |
| Silent they cast down their eyes, | |
| And every breast a sob did rive, | |
| She lifted her in wild surprise | |
| And they dared not disobey. | |
| ‘Laus Deo’, said the Steward, hoary when her days were new; | 70 |
| ‘Laus Deo’, said the Warrener, whiter than the warren snows; | |
| ‘Laus Deo’, the bald Henchman, who had nursed her on his knee. | |
| The old Nurse moved her lips in vain, | |
| And she stood among the train | |
| Like a dead tree shaking dew. | 75 |
| Then the Priest he softly stept | |
| Midway in the little band, | |
| And he took the Lady’s hand. | |
| ‘Laus Deo’, he said aloud, | |
| ‘Laus Deo’, they said again, | 80 |
| Yet again, and yet again, | |
| Humbly cross’d and lowly bow’d, | |
| Till in wont and fear it rose | |
| To the Sabbath strain. | |
| But she neither turn’d her head | 85 |
| Nor ‘Whistly, whistly,’ said she. | |
| Her hands were folded as in grace, | |
| We laid her with her ancient race | |
| And all the village wept. | |
| |
