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.'