Maude Clare

Out of the church she followed them         With a lofty step and mien:     His bride was like a village maid,         Maude Clare was like a queen.     'Son Thomas,' his lady mother said,         With smiles, almost with tears:     'May Nell and you but live as true         As we have done for years;     'Your father thirty years ago         Had just your tale to tell;     But he was not so pale as you,         Nor I so pale as Nell.'     My lord was pale with inward strife,         And Nell was pale with pride;     My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare         Or ever he kissed the bride.     'Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,         Have brought my gift,' she said:     'To bless the hearth, to bless the board,         To bless the marriage-bed.     'Here's my half of the golden chain         You wore about your neck,     That day we waded ankle-deep         For lilies in the beck:     'Here's my half of the faded leaves         We plucked from budding bough,     With feet amongst the lily leaves,--         The lilies are budding now.'     He strove to match her scorn with scorn,         He faltered in his place:     'Lady,' he said,--'Maude Clare,' he said,--         'Maude Clare:'--and hid his face.     She turn'd to Nell: 'My Lady Nell,         I have a gift for you;     Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone,         Or, were it flowers, the dew.     'Take my share of a fickle heart,         Mine of a paltry love:     Take it or leave it as you will,         I wash my hands thereof.'     'And what you leave,' said Nell, 'I'll take,         And what you spurn, I'll wear;     For he's my lord for better and worse,         And him I love, Maude Clare.     'Yea, though you're taller by the head,         More wise, and much more fair;     I'll love him till he loves me best,         Me best of all, Maude Clare.'