Maid Maleen

The Tower

The various years from sun to sun
Lit up the tower black and tall,
And traced the courses they had run
In light and shade upon the wall;
The ivy-moss was thickly grown,
Unchecked by window-ledge or door:
The rounding wall, the graying stone
Stood lonely on the desert moor.

Ambition – thoughtless jealousies –
Mad groping after petty power –
And pomp, and pride – alas! ‘twas these
Sprang up and built the cruel tower:
A king, his greatness to secure,
Made treaty with another land;
The deal was struck, the vow was sure,
The token – his own daughter’s hand.

‘My daughter! we are blessed,’ he said,
‘Our fortune’s won this very week;
The deal is struck – and thou shalt wed.’
The maiden blush came o’er her cheek; –
It spread across her pallid brow; –
With eyes downcast, demure, she spake,
‘My lord, make me not scorn my vow
And wed, my true love to forsake.’

‘What!’ cried he: ‘And shalt thou refuse?
What! dost thou scorn my word?’ he said;
By th’ holy rood! sure, thou shalt choose,
In seven years, whom thou shalt wed!’
He swelled in apoplectic rage:
‘Thine – thine shall be a sunless bower; –
Take seven years’ provision, page;
Ye masons, build a doorless tower!’

Full seven years had crept along;
Full seven times the maiden spring
Had woken to the robin’s song,
And flown away on swifter wing;
And seven years the sun was bright,
And seven years turned all things green, –
Yet had no sunbeam pierced the night
That still enfolded Maid Maleen.

The Countryside

Full seven years had flown away;
The scant provisions dwindled low;
Maleen spake to her maid one day,
‘Dear friend, this week our food shall go:
Ah me! I worry for my life!’
‘Sooth, mistress! though our food be gone,
We have this silver butter knife; –
Perchance we might break loose a stone.’

A week went by; the stores were gone;
Of water, but a drop was all;
The mortar crumbles from the stone –
The stone drops from the tower wall!
The princess and her maid step through;
And, ‘Tell me, friend, this is no dream!’
Dim eyes behold the sky’s deep blue,
And greet the sun’s first golden beam!

And all around, the countryside
Lay waste; the towns were overthrown;
Destruction, roaming far and wide,
Had spared the lofty tower alone;
Betimes, some proud imperial state
Had smote the land, its people strain;
The maiden’s home was desolate,
Her kindred gone, her father slain.

And so they roam from place to place;
Alas! poor stricken Maid Maleen!
They rest under heaven’s open face,
And feed upon the nettles green;
And sometime, in her direst need,
She labors till she scarce can weep,
And toils till her soft fingers bleed,
And earns no wage but food and sleep.

The Kitchen

She wandered, tender Maid Maleen,
Until she found a castle high;
And there she came to cook and clean,
And on the hearth by night to lie;
Poor maiden! she had traveled far,
And crossed the borders of some state
She wist not; – for her only care
Was day by day to toil and wait.

Thus fared she, till it chanced one night
The news was sounded far and wide,
‘Long live the king! his reign be bright!
And joy befall his beauteous bride!’
And then once more she wept and sighed,
‘Ah me! and I shall never wed; –
My love, my own true love,’ she cried,
‘These seven years must think me dead!’

The bride arrives – O cruel fate!
As foul a hag as e’er was born,
But daughter to some head of state;
She plots to hide the wedding morn:
‘Sure, I must wait and not be seen;
Trade places with some maid, but where –’
She halts; she looks on Maid Maleen,
And thinks, ‘Ah, she is passing fair.’

The Wedding

Full joyously the wedding bells
Peal in the long-awaited dawn!
Full merrily their laughter swells,
And lingers over lea and lawn!
The king steps forth: O noble brow –
O lofty eyes – O handsome face –
Such regal bearing, mingled too
With every virtue, every grace!

He steps forth; – lo! his bride he spies;
He thinks, ‘Ah, she is fair indeed.’
How timidly she turns her eyes!
How swiftly she drops down her head!
And o’er her cheek the crimson glows,
And scarcely can she brook the tears; –
For in his noble face she knows
Her true, true love of seven years!

Now hand-in-hand they make their way
Through virgin lilies, white and pure,
And still he thinks, ‘Who can she be,
This maid so lovely and demure?’
But she nor speaks, nor meets his eye,
So that he wonders yet the more,
And so she treads with stifled sigh
The pathway to the chapel door.

Anon a nettle she espies,
All withered, trodden down, and bare,
And softly to herself she sighs,
And murmurs to the nettle there,
‘O nettle, I did eat of thee,
Out in the lonely countryside;
Wherefore didst thou not poison me?
Alas! for I am no true bride.’

Anon she sees a bridge of stone,
Across a babbling brooklet fair,
And there she makes a stifled moan,
And murmurs to the stone bridge there,
‘O bridge, if I must cross on thee,
Let me not reach the other side;
Wilt thou not crumble under me?
Alas! for I am no true bride.’

Anon they reach the chapel door,
And lo! she groweth pale as death;
And to herself she sighs full sore,
And to the door these words she saith:
‘O door, how can I be so bold
To pass, though thou be open wide?
Let me not cross thy broad threshold.
Alas! for I am no true bride.’

And they were wed that merry day,
And they who live to tell the tale
Here pause, and muse awhile, and say
That never bride so fair and pale,
And never king so grand and bold,
And never such a trembling kiss,
E’er met before; and (it is told)
No marriage since was like to this.

The Betrayal

Deep tolls at length the evening bell;
The king ascends to meet his wife;
She greets him from behind her veil,
And, ‘Strange!’ he mutters; ‘By my life,
This voice is not the which I heard
That charms the sparrows from the trees.’
He proves her: ‘Tell me, queen, the word
Thou saidst to the nettle in the leas.’

She flies away on some excuse,
And finds the weeping Maid Maleen;
‘Thou wench!’ she hisses, ‘Straightway choose:
What saidst thou to the nettle green?
Speak! if thou wouldest keep thy head!’
‘Mercy!’ the gentle maiden cried;
‘Have mercy, – for I only said,
Alas! that I am no true bride.’

Straightway she hastens up the stairs,
‘My lord,’ she speaks, ‘I only sighed; –
O whence come all these silly fears? –
And said I was thy own true bride.’
Again he said, ‘What didst thou moan, –
Tell me, O queen, if thou be true –
When we walked across the bridge of stone?’
Away, on some false task, she flew.

‘What saidst thou to the bridge of stone?
Speak, wench, if thou wouldst save thy life!’
Then hastens back the hideous crone,
And saith, ‘My lord, why mock thy wife?’
And tells all. Yet not satisfied,
‘Speak, queen,’ he saith to her once more,
‘And tell me, if thou be my bride,
What saidst thou to the chapel door?’

She cannot tell. ‘Begone!’ he cries,
‘I see that thou art no true bride!’
And straightway from his wrath she flies,
And leaves the door flung open wide.
Anon she sees a tarnished sword;
She takes it in her wrathful spleen;
And, ‘Wretch!’ she cries, and, ‘By my word,
The end is come for Maid Maleen!’

The Recognition

A piercing scream! He hears her cry,
And hastens to the kitchen door;
He sees the hag, her sword raised high;
He sees his bride shrinking on the floor!
Ah, noble prince! Ah, lovely maid!
He rushes in upon the scene:
The hag is seized; the blow is stayed;
He cometh unto Maid Maleen.

O blessed thought! O tender grace!
And again the blush spreads o’er her cheek.
He looketh long upon her face,
And trembling scarcely dares to speak:
‘Art thou not dead these seven years?’
‘Nay, lost, my lord.’ O happy scene!
No longer can she stay her tears,
As soft he whispers, ‘My Maleen!’

Full many a year has tripped along;
Full many a time the maiden spring
Has woken to the robin’s song,
And flown away on swifter wing;
And many a year the sun was bright,
And many a year turned all things green,
And never again did a shade of night
Fall on the heart of Maid Maleen.

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