Maiden-Song

Long ago and long ago,         And long ago still,     There dwelt three merry maidens         Upon a distant hill.     One was tall Meggan,         And one was dainty May,     But one was fair Margaret,         More fair than I can say,     Long ago and long ago.     When Meggan plucked the thorny rose,         And when May pulled the brier,     Half the birds would swoop to see,         Half the beasts draw nigher;     Half the fishes of the streams         Would dart up to admire:     But when Margaret plucked a flag-flower,         Or poppy hot aflame,     All the beasts and all the birds         And all the fishes came     To her hand more soft than snow.     Strawberry leaves and May-dew         In brisk morning air,     Strawberry leaves and May-dew         Make maidens fair.     'I go for strawberry leaves,'         Meggan said one day:     'Fair Margaret can bide at home,         But you come with me, May;     Up the hill and down the hill,         Along the winding way     You and I are used to go.'     So these two fair sisters         Went with innocent will     Up the hill and down again,         And round the homestead hill:     While the fairest sat at home,         Margaret like a queen,     Like a blush-rose, like the moon         In her heavenly sheen,     Fragrant-breathed as milky cow         Or field of blossoming bean,     Graceful as an ivy bough         Born to cling and lean;     Thus she sat to sing and sew.     When she raised her lustrous eyes         A beast peeped at the door;     When she downward cast her eyes         A fish gasped on the floor;     When she turned away her eyes         A bird perched on the sill,     Warbling out its heart of love,         Warbling warbling still,     With pathetic pleadings low.     Light-foot May with Meggan         Sought the choicest spot,     Clothed with thyme-alternate grass:         Then, while day waxed hot,     Sat at ease to play and rest,         A gracious rest and play;     The loveliest maidens near or far,         When Margaret was away,     Who sat at home to sing and sew.     Sun-glow flushed their comely cheeks,         Wind-play tossed their hair,     Creeping things among the grass         Stroked them here and there;     Meggan piped a merry note,         A fitful wayward lay,     While shrill as bird on topmost twig         Piped merry May;     Honey-smooth the double flow.     Sped a herdsman from the vale,         Mounting like a flame,     All on fire to hear and see,         With floating locks he came.     Looked neither north nor south,         Neither east nor west,     But sat him down at Meggan's feet         As love-bird on his nest,     And wooed her with a silent awe,         With trouble not expressed;     She sang the tears into his eyes,         The heart out of his breast:     So he loved her, listening so.     She sang the heart out of his breast,         The words out of his tongue;     Hand and foot and pulse he paused         Till her song was sung.     Then he spoke up from his place         Simple words and true:     'Scanty goods have I to give,         Scanty skill to woo;     But I have a will to work,         And a heart for you:     Bid me stay or bid me go.'     Then Meggan mused within herself:         'Better be first with him,     Than dwell where fairer Margaret sits,         Who shines my brightness dim,     For ever second where she sits,         However fair I be:     I will be lady of his love,         And he shall worship me;     I will be lady of his herds         And stoop to his degree,     At home where kids and fatlings grow.'     Sped a shepherd from the height         Headlong down to look,     (White lambs followed, lured by love         Of their shepherd's crook):     He turned neither east nor west,         Neither north nor south,     But knelt right down to May, for love         Of her sweet-singing mouth;     Forgot his flocks, his panting flocks         In parching hill-side drouth;     Forgot himself for weal or woe.     Trilled her song and swelled her song         With maiden coy caprice     In a labyrinth of throbs,         Pauses, cadences;     Clear-noted as a dropping brook,         Soft-noted like the bees,     Wild-noted as the shivering wind         Forlorn through forest trees:     Love-noted like the wood-pigeon         Who hides herself for love,     Yet cannot keep her secret safe,         But coos and coos thereof:     Thus the notes rang loud or low.     He hung breathless on her breath;         Speechless, who listened well;     Could not speak or think or wish         Till silence broke the spell.     Then he spoke, and spread his hands,         Pointing here and there:     'See my sheep and see the lambs,         Twin lambs which they bare.     All myself I offer you,         All my flocks and care,     Your sweet song hath moved me so.'     In her fluttered heart young May         Mused a dubious while:     'If he loves me as he says' -         Her lips curved with a smile:     'Where Margaret shines like the sun         I shine but like a moon;     If sister Meggan makes her choice         I can make mine as soon;     At cockcrow we were sister-maids,         We may be brides at noon.'     Said Meggan, 'Yes;' May said not 'No.'     Fair Margaret stayed alone at home,         Awhile she sang her song,     Awhile sat silent, then she thought:         'My sisters loiter long.'     That sultry noon had waned away,         Shadows had waxen great:     'Surely,' she thought within herself,         'My sisters loiter late.'     She rose, and peered out at the door,         With patient heart to wait,     And heard a distant nightingale         Complaining of its mate;     Then down the garden slope she walked,         Down to the garden gate,     Leaned on the rail and waited so.     The slope was lightened by her eyes         Like summer lightning fair,     Like rising of the haloed moon         Lightened her glimmering hair,     While her face lightened like the sun         Whose dawn is rosy white.     Thus crowned with maiden majesty         She peered into the night,     Looked up the hill and down the hill,         To left hand and to right,     Flashing like fire-flies to and fro.     Waiting thus in weariness         She marked the nightingale     Telling, if any one would heed,         Its old complaining tale.     Then lifted she her voice and sang,         Answering the bird:     Then lifted she her voice and sang,         Such notes were never heard     From any bird when Spring's in blow.     The king of all that country         Coursing far, coursing near,     Curbed his amber-bitted steed,         Coursed amain to hear;     All his princes in his train,         Squire, and knight, and peer,     With his crown upon his head,         His sceptre in his hand,     Down he fell at Margaret's knees         Lord king of all that land,     To her highness bending low.     Every beast and bird and fish         Came mustering to the sound,     Every man and every maid         From miles of country round:     Meggan on her herdsman's arm,         With her shepherd May,     Flocks and herds trooped at their heels         Along the hill-side way;     No foot too feeble for the ascent,         Not any head too grey;     Some were swift and none were slow.     So Margaret sang her sisters home         In their marriage mirth;     Sang free birds out of the sky,         Beasts along the earth,     Sang up fishes of the deep -         All breathing things that move     Sang from far and sang from near         To her lovely love;     Sang together friend and foe;     Sang a golden-bearded king         Straightway to her feet,     Sang him silent where he knelt         In eager anguish sweet.     But when the clear voice died away,         When longest echoes died,     He stood up like a royal man         And claimed her for his bride.     So three maids were wooed and won         In a brief May-tide,     Long ago and long ago.