{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9483/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9483","id":"gutenberg_9483","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9483","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Romance","Married people -- Fiction","Religious fiction"],"text":"Produced by Clare Boothby and PG Distributed Proofreaders\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                              THE\n                       STORY AND SONG OF\n                         BLACK RODERICK\n\n\n                               By\n                          Dora Sigerson\n\n\n\n                              1906\n\n\n\n\nThis is the story of Black Earl Roderick, the story and the song of his\npride and of his humbling; of the bitterness of his heart, and of the love\nthat came to it at last; of his threatened destruction, and the strange\nand wonderful way of his salvation.\n\nSo shall I begin and tell.\n\nHe left his gray castle at the dawn of the morning, and with many a knight\nto bear him company rode, not eager and swift, like a prince who went to\nfind a treasure, but steady and slow, as we should go to meet sorrow. Not\none of the hundred men who followed dared to lilt a lay or fling a\nlaughing jest from his mouth. All rode silent among their gay trappings,\nfor so saith a song:\n\n   _It was the Black Earl Roderick\n      Who rode towards the south;\n    The frown was heavy on his brow,\n       The sneer upon his mouth._\n\n   _Behind him rode a hundred men\n      All gay with plume and spear;\n    But not a one did lilt a song\n      His weary way to cheer._\n\n   _So stern was Black Earl Roderick\n      Upon his wedding-day,\n    To none he spake a single word\n      Who met him on his way._\n\nAnd of those that passed him as he went there were none who dared to bid\nhim God-speed, and only one whispered at all; she was Mora of the\nKnowledge, who was picking herbs in a lonely place and saw him ride.\n\n\"There goeth the hunter,\" said she; \"'tis a white doe that thou wouldst\nkill. High hanging to thee, my lord, upon a windy day!\"\n\nAnd of all the flying things he met in his going, one only dared to put\npain upon him, and she was a honeybee who stabbed his cheek with her\nsword.\n\n\"Would I could slay thee,\" she cried, \"ere thou rob the hive of its\nhoney!\"\n\nAnd of all the creeping things that passed him on his way, only one tried\nto stay him; she was the bramble who cast her thorn across his path so his\nsteed wellnigh stumbled.\n\n\"Would I could make thee fall, Black Earl, who now art so high, ere thou\nrob fruit from the branch!\"\n\nOnly one living thing upon the mountains saw him go without mourning, and\nhe was the red weasel who took the world as he found it.\n\n\"Tears will not heal a wound,\" saith he, \"but they will quench a fire. Thy\nhive is in danger, bee,\" quoth he. \"Bramble, thy flowers are scattered and\nthy fruit lost.\"\n\nBut the Black Earl did not heed or hear anything outside his own thoughts.\nThey were sharper than the bee's sword and less easy to cast aside than\nthe entrapping bramble.\n\nWhen he reached the castle wherein his bride did dwell, he blew three\nblasts upon the horn that hung beside the gate, and in answer to his call\na voice cried out to him. But what it said I shall sing thee, lest thou\ngrow weary of my prose:\n\n  _\"Come in, come in, Earl Roderick,\n      Come in or you be late;\n    The priest is ready in his stole.\n      The wedding guests await.\"_\n\n   _And then the stern Earl Roderick\n      From his fierce steed came down;\n    The sneer still curled upon his lip,\n      His eyes still held the frown._\n\n   _He strode right haughtily and quick\n      Into the banquet-hall,\n    And stood among the wedding guests,\n      The greatest of them all._\n\n   _He gave scant greeting to the throng,\n      He waved the guests aside:\n   \"Now haste! for I, Earl Roderick,\n      Will wait long for no bride!_\n\n  _\"And I must in the saddle be\n      Before the night is gray;\n    So quickly with the marriage lines,\n      And let us ride away.\"_\n\nAnd now shall I tell thee how, as he spoke thus proud and heartlessly, his\nlittle bride came into the hall? So white was she, and so trembled she,\nthat many wondered she did not sink upon the marble floor and die.\n\nHer mother held her snow-white hand, weeping bitterly the while.\n\n\"If I had my will,\" thought she, \"this thing should never be. Oh, sharp\nsorrow,\" sobbed she, \"this for a woman: my trouble thou art, and my\nthousand treasures.\"\n\nHer father, seeing the frowning Earl, muttered in his beard:\n\n\"Would there were some other way. Stern is he and hard, to wear a young\nmaid's heart.\" And then aloud he spoke, laying his hands upon the yellow\ncurls of his child: \"This is the golden link that binds the clans. God's\nsweet love be upon her head, for she hath healed a cruel and evil quarrel\nbetween the two houses. Lift up your voices, my comrades, and make ye\nmerry; it is a good deed you have helped in to-day.\"\n\nNow, when the guests turned with their laughter and gentle jesting to the\nnewly married pair, the Black Earl relented not his frown. With scant\ncourtesy and brief good-bye he mounted upon his fretting steed, vowing he\ncould no longer stay. Up before him they lifted the young bride.\n\n\"'Tis a rough place to carry the child,\" wept the sad mother.\n\nBut her father smiled upon the Black Earl.\n\n\"Where but upon his heart should she rest? Is that not so, my son?\"\n\n\"If it be not cold,\" muttered the sullen bridegroom, drawing his rein.\n\n\"Wrap thy cloak about her,\" cried the father, waving farewell.\n\n\"Wrap thy love about her,\" wept the mother, hiding her face.\n\nSo rode the Black Earl and his bride, followed by his sullen men-at-arms,\ngay with their wedding favors.\n\nTo his weary little bride he spoke no gentle word, though she fluttered\nweeping upon his breast like to some wounded thing.\n\nFor in his heart the gloomy Earl spake bitterly, and said he:\n\n\"Not upon thy hand did I hope to place my golden ring; I have put my own\ntrue love aside, to keep the clans together, and wedding thee thus have I\nbeen false to the desires of my heart, so do I turn from thee who art my\nbride.\"\n\nThus did he take her to his castle in silence, and, lifting her from his\nsteed, bid her enter the strong gates before him.\n\nSo shut they with a clang upon her youth and her merry heart, and she\nbecame the neglected mistress of the gray towers she had looked on from\nafar, and bride of the great Earl she had dreamed of so long.\n\nBut to the Black Roderick she was as nothing; he sought her not, neither\ndid he speak of her; she was but the cruel small hand that closed upon his\nheart and drew it from its love, claiming him in honor her own. And to her\nclaim was he faithful, turning even his thoughts away, lest he should be\nfalse to his vow. But no more than this did he give her.\n\nSo was she left alone, the young bride who did not understand a man's\nways, and, fearing where she loved, hid from his presence lest he should\nlook upon her in hate. Oft had she dreamed of the wonder of being the wife\nof this proud Earl, in trembling desire and hope, hearing her parents\nspeak of him and of the troth. Oft had she listened to their murmured\nwords, as they spoke of the clans and the peace these two could bring.\n\n\"Stern he is, and black for the young child,\" said her mother, \"and I am\nafraid\"; but the child stole away to the hill behind her father's castle,\nand there looked into the valley of Baile-ata-Cliat to watch the white\ntowers of the Black Earl glistening in the sun, to dream and to tremble.\n\nAnd as she gazed a honey-bee hummed in her ear, \"Go not to the great\ncity.\"\n\nAnd as she smiled she raised her hand between her eyes and the far-off\ntowers so she could not see.\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth she, \"it is a small place; my hand can cover it.\"\n\n\"Ring a chime,\" saith she to the heather shaking its bells in the wind,\n\"ring for me a wedding chime, for I am to be the bride of the Earl\nRoderick.\"\n\nShe kissed the wild bramble lifting its petals in the sun.\n\n\"I shall return to thee soon.\"\n\nAnd so, springing to her feet, she ran laughing down the hill, and as she\nran the spirit of the hills was with her, blowing in her eyes and lifting\nher soft hair.\n\n\"I shall return to thee soon,\" she said again, and so entered her father's\nhouse and prepared herself for her betrothed.\n\nWhat of her dream was there now? She was indeed the Earl's bride, but,\nalack! she was divorced from his heart and was naught to his days.\n\nNever did she sit by his knee when he drew his chair by the fire, weary\nfrom the chase, nor lean beside him while he slept, to wonder at her\nhappiness. Down the great halls she went, looking through the narrow\nwindows on the outside world, as a brown moth flutters at the pane, weary\nof an imprisonment that had in its hold the breath of death.\n\nWeary and pale grew she, and more morose and stern the Black Earl, and of\ntheir tragedy there seemed no end. But when a year had nigh passed, one\nrosy morning a servant-lass met Black Roderick as he came from his\nchamber, her eyes heavy with tears.\n\nAnd of what she said I shall sing, lest thou grow weary of my prose:\n\n  _\"Alas!\" she said, \"Earl Roderick,\n     'Tis well that you should know\n    That each gray eve, lone wandering,\n      My mistress dear doth go._\n\n  _\"She comes with sorrow in her eyes\n      Home in the dawning light;\n    My lord, she is so weak and young\n      To travel in the night.\"_\n\n   _Now stern grew Black Earl Roderick,\n      But answered not at all;\n    He took his hunting harness down\n      That hung upon the wall._\n\n\n   _Then quickly went he to the chase,\n      And slowly came he back,\n    And there he met his old sweetheart,\n      Who stood across his track._\n\nSo shall I tell how she, sighing and white of face, laid her soft hand\nupon his bridle-rein so he could not go from her. Her breath came out of\nher like the hissing of a trodden snake, poisoning the ear of the\nhorseman.\n\n\"Bend to me thy proud head, Black Earl,\" quoth she, \"for it shall be low\nenough soon. This is a tale I bring to thee of sorrow and shame. Bend me\nthy proud neck, Black Roderick, for the burden I must lay upon it shall\nbow thee as the snow does the mountain pine. Bend to me thine ear.\"\n\nTo him then she said:\n\n\"Where goeth your mistress?\"\n\n\"What care I?\" said the Black Earl, \"since she be not thou.\"\n\n\"If she were I,\" said his lost love, \"she would seek no other save thee\nalone.\"\n\n\"What sayest thou?\" said the Black Earl, pale as death.\n\n\"Each night she goeth through the woods of Glenasmole to the hill of brown\nKippure, and there lingereth until the dawn be chill.\"\n\n\"Who hath her love?\" saith the Black Earl.\n\n\"A shepherd, or mayhap a swineherd--who knoweth?\" quoth the serpent voice.\n\"By no brave prince art thou supplanted.\"\n\nAt this the Black Earl struck his hand upon his breast.\n\n\"Lord pity me,\" quoth he, \"that in my time should come the stain upon our\nhonored house! My name, that was so white, shall now blush red. My proud\nancestors will curse me from their tomb. Let thou go my rein, that I may\nseek this wanton and give her ready punishment.\"\n\nSo quick he drew the rein from her hand that she wellnigh stumbled. And\nlike one bereft of mind he rode through the woods and up the hill seeking\nhis false bride. High and low he searched, but no sign of his lost\nmistress did he discover. Out in the distance he saw the shining city of\nBaile-ata-Cliat, on the near wood side of which his gray towers stood. He\ncould see the flag on its topmost turret waving in the breeze like a\nbeckoning finger calling him back from his futile search. He turned him\nabout, and on every side of him were the shadowy mountains watching him\nand appalling him with their mystery. Impatient he turned his eyes upon\nthe ground; a bramble moving in the wind cast itself about his feet. He\ncrushed it under his heel. A bee darting from one of the trodden flowers\nmade a battle-cry, and bared her sting for his neck. He struck it down\namong the leaves; following its fall, his eyes, drawn by some other eyes,\nrested on a hollow by a stone. There he saw gazing at him the whiskered\nface of a red weasel, looking without pity, without fear.\n\n\"Evil beast!\" said the Black Earl, glad to speak, for the silence of all\nthe listening things who watched him made his heart beat with unwonted\nquickness, and he knew they were so many silent judges reading the evil of\nhis soul. \"Get thee gone,\" quoth the Black Earl. \"Darest thou gaze upon me\nwithout fear?\"\n\nBut the red weasel, resting at the doorway of his hole, did not blink a\nlid of his sharp eyes.\n\n\"Who art thou that evil should droop ashamed before thee?\" said a voice,\nand the Black Earl turned as though a stone had struck him.\n\nNow, when he looked east and west, no one could he see, but when he turned\nhim south, there among the trees he saw an old, bent woman gathering\nherbs. He turned his horse and, full of rage, drove it towards her.\n\n\"Was it not thy voice that hurt my ears as I stood upon the hill?\" quoth\nthe Black Earl, his tongue silken in his rage.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the ancient crone; \"I heard but the linnet's song upon the\ntree, and the sound of running water that is murmuring in the grove.\nListen, and thou, too, shalt hear.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth she again, for the Black Earl scowled so at her that she\nfeared to be silent. \"If I said this thing, why should it vex the ear of\nso proud a knight? Yonder black rook did look into my face with an\ninquisitive eye as I plucked my herbs and harmed no man, so I, angry at\nthe wicked one, cursed him begone. As he flew affrighted at my hand, I\nturned my eyes into my own heart. The birds and I, do we not both root in\nthe cold earth, seeking to draw from it our desires? Black and ill-looking,\nwe dig all day. 'Who art thou,' quoth I to myself, 'that evil should fly\nbefore thee?' Wicked that I am,\" cried the witch, \"and sorrow upon me that\nmy words have vexed thine ears!\"\n\nNow the Black Earl did look upon her in anger, and but half believed her\ntale. His trouble being heavy upon him, he bade her leave her lamenting\nand answer his question.\n\n\"There is one,\" quoth he, \"who doth wander upon the hill-side, far from\nher home, a lady of high degree; sawest thou any such,\" saith he, \"for I\nhave sought her long?\"\n\nNow will I sing thee what was said and what happened, lest thou grow weary\nof my prose:\n\n  _\"I have not seen your lady here,\"\n      The withered dame replied;\n   \"But I have met a little lass\n      Who wrung her hands and cried._\n\n  _\"She was not clad in silken robe,\n      Nor rode a palfrey white,\n    She had no maidens in her train,\n      Behind her rode no knight._\n\n  _\"But she crept weary up yon hill\n      And crouched upon the sward;\n    I dare not think that she could be\n      Spouse to so great a lord.\"_\n\n   _Now darkly frowned Earl Roderick,\n      He turned his face away;\n    And shame and anger in his heart\n      Disturbed him with their sway._\n\n   _For he had never cared to know\n      What his young bride would wear;\n    He gave her neither horse nor hound,\n      Nor jewels for her hair._\n\nNow shall I tell how the Black Earl clapped his hand upon his dagger, and\nsaid in a great rage: \"Where went this little lass, and whom hath she by\nher side? for whoever he be, I shall show to him no pity. Neither shall\nher tears save her. Nor shall thy age serve thee, witch, if thou hast\nspoken not the truth. Whither went they, so I may follow, as the hound\ngoes on the trail of the deer?\"\n\n\"Oh, sharp sorrow thy anger is!\" cried the old crone; \"what can I say,\nsave what my eye hath seen and my ear hath heard? The little lass passed\nme as I gathered my herbs under the dew. She hath by her side no lord nor\nlover. She went sad and alone. Here climbed she the height of the hill,\nand there sat she making her lament.\"\n\n\"And what lament made she?\" said the Black Earl, putting his dagger into\nits sheath.\n\n\"Once called she on her father, as one who drowns in deep waters would\ncall upon a passing ship. Twice called she upon her mother, as one would\ncall upon a house of rest or of hospitality. Thrice called she upon Earl\nRoderick, as one would call at the gates of paradise, there to find rescue\nand love.\"\n\n\"And said she naught else?\" said the Black Earl, his head upon his breast.\n\n\"Yea,\" quoth the crone, \"when she called upon her father, she smiled\nthrough her tears. 'Didst thou know I perish,' quoth she, 'thy arms would\nreach to save me!'\n\n\"And when she called twice upon her mother, her mouth smiled even the\nsame, 'for didst thou learn my hunger, thy heart would warm me to life\nagain'; but when she called three times upon Earl Roderick, she paused as\nthough for an answer, and smiled no more. 'Thee,' quoth she, 'I perish\nfor, I hunger for. Thou lovest me not at all.'\n\n\"So did she sit and make her moan upon the hill, and here watched she the\nlights in the far windows of her lost home quench themselves one by one.\n'Now,' quoth she, 'my mother sleepeth, and now my father. And now by all\nam I forgotten.' Then did she steal, in the dim light, down from the hill,\nand I saw her no more.\"\n\n\"What didst thou tell to her, old witch?\" quoth the Black Earl, \"as she\npassed weeping? Didst thou speak to her no word?\"\n\n\"I stopped her as she passed me, proud Earl,\" quoth the crone, \"for she\nwas gentle, and held her head not too high to look upon one old and near\nunto death.\n\n\"'Weep not,' said I, 'but spread to me thy fingers, so I may read what\nfate thou holdest in thy palm.' And like a child she smiled between her\ntears.\n\n\"'Look only on luck,' quoth she, 'oh, ancient one, lest my heart break\neven now.' I spread her pink fingertips out as one would unruffle a rose,\nand read therein her fate.\"\n\n\"And what read you there?\" said the Black Earl, impatient with her delay.\n\n\"I read,\" quoth the crone, \"and if I say, thou must keep thy anger from\nme, for what I read I had not written:\n\n  _\"I traced upon her slender palm\n      That luck was changing soon;\n    I swore that peace would come to her\n      Before another moon._\n\n  _\"I said that he who loved her well\n      Would robe her all in silk,\n    And bear her in a coach of gold,\n      With palfreys white as milk._\n\n  _\"I told, before three suns had set\n      He'd kneel down by her side;\n    That he she loved would love her well,\n      And she would be his bride._\n\n\"'This before three suns have set,' so read I,\" quoth the crone.\n\nNow, when the Black Earl heard so much, he would hear no more. Pallid grew\nhis angry cheek, and his eyes were full of fire; he flung himself upon his\nhorse, and, sparing not the beast, galloped home.\n\n\"In the highest tower shall I lock the jade,\" quoth he, \"lest she bring me\nshame; for what her palm had writ upon it one must believe, and who dare\nlove her, save I who will not? And should I die, wherefore should she not\nbe another's? And should I not die--but this no man dare, for I shall tear\nhis tongue from his mouth, his ear from his cheek, his heart from his\nbody, ere he speak or listen to a word to my dishonor.\"\n\nNow, when he reached his castle, no man ventured to speak to him, or look\nupon him with too inquisitive an eye, for his anger was such that one\ntrembled to approach him.\n\nAnd at the gate of his castle sat his old love upon her palfrey, with a\nstern face and grim; behind her, resting upon their way, came her\nfollowers, knight and lady, gay with banner and spear, whispering in their\ntelling of the story.\n\n\"A curse upon the wandering feet that have brought disgrace upon thy\nhouse,\" quoth his old love, her hand so tight upon the rein that the two\npages could hardly keep the horse from rearing.\n\nBut the proud Earl to her made no answer, neither to bid her welcome, nor\nto bid her go, nor to speak of his fears. Into his breast he locked his\ngrief so that none might know the strain wellnigh broke the stony casket\nof his heart.\n\nWhen he leaped from his horse there came to him his little brother.\n\n\"My grief!\" said the boy, \"what has happened in the night, for I heard the\nbanshee sobbing so bitterly through the dark?\"\n\nNo answer made the Black Earl to the boy, neither did he lift him in his\narms nor chide him for his weeping, but passed silent into his own\nchamber, and crouched within his chair. When after a time he raised his\neyes, he seemed to see his young bride gazing upon him from the open door.\nAnd in his anger he sprang to seize her, but only the empty air came to\nhis hands.\n\nHe mounted the marble stairs to her chamber to seek her there, but only\nfound a sewing-maid, pale and deadly faint.\n\n\"Oh, sharp sorrow,\" quoth she, \"from what I have seen this night, Mary\nprotect me! A white ghost have I seen--evil it may bring to me--a white\nghost with dim eyes of the dead!\"\n\n\"Whither went she?\" said the Black Earl, angry in his need.\n\n\"Into thy chamber, great Earl!\" cried the maid; \"I saw her at thy bed-head\nweeping piteously.\"\n\n\"It was thy lady,\" quoth the Earl; \"lead me her way, and stop thy\nlamentation.\"\n\n\"My grief!\" the girl said, \"her way I know not; when I, deeming her my\nmistress, reached her side, she was no more. It is an evil day that cometh\nupon us.\"\n\nNow, when the proud Roderick saw the girl so full of fear, he chid her\ncruelly and bade her go. Yet when she had left him he felt a strange and\nunwonted coldness settle upon his heart.\n\nThe anger against his young bride was quenched, and a dewlike fear grew\nupon him. But of what befell him I shall now sing to thee, lest thou grow\nweary of my prose:\n\n   _All silent Black Earl Roderick\n      Went to his room away,\n    Full angry, with his throbbing heart\n      And fitful fancy's play._\n\n   _He sat him by the bright hearth-side,\n      And turned towards the door;\n    And there upon the threshold stood\n      His lady, weeping sore._\n\n   _He chased her down the winding stair,\n      And out into the night,\n    But only found a withered crone,\n      With long hair, loose and white._\n\n  _\"Come hither now, you sly-faced witch;\n      Come hither now to me.\n    Say if a lady all so pale\n      Your evil eyes did see?\"_\n\n  _\"Oh, true, I saw a little lass,\n      She went all white as snow;\n    She crossed my hands with silver crown\n      Just two short hours ago.\"_\n\n  _\"What did you tell the foolish wench,\n      Who must my lady be?\n    The false tale you did tell to her\n      You now must tell to me.\"_\n\n  _\"I hate you, Black Earl Roderick,\n      You're cruel, hard, and cold;\n    Yet you shall grieve like a young child\n      Before the moon is cold._\n\n  _\"This did I tell her, like a queen\n      She'd ride into the town;\n    And every man who met her there\n      Would on his knees go down._\n\n  _\"I said that he who followed none\n      Would walk behind her now,\n    And in his trembling hand the helm\n      From his uncovered brow._\n\n  _\"Then he should walk, while she would ride,\n      Through all the town away;\n    And greater than Earl Roderick\n      She would become that day.\"_\n\nAnd now shall I tell how laughed the Black Earl aloud and scornful at the\nwitch's tale.\n\n\"No lady in the land,\" quoth he, \"could so enslave me, and no woman yet\nwas born who hath my honor and glory.\"\n\nSo spoke Earl Roderick, and by these words shalt thou hold him, heart-whole\nand vain withal, for the hour of his sorrow had not yet struck.\n\nNow turned he to the dame, and, chiding her, bade her begone.\n\n\"Thy tale,\" saith he, \"is full of weariness. It hath neither wisdom nor\ntruth.\"\n\nTurning from her in anger, home went he, and flung himself before the\ndying fire in his chamber, a frown between his brows. And again a cold\nfear turned closely about his heart. Raising his eyes, he saw no more\nterrible a thing than his young bride, with a face of grievous pain,\nlooking upon him from the door. Then he spoke her gently.\n\n\"Come,\" quoth he, \"sad-faced one, why dost thou torment me? One question\nonly shall I ask thee, and this must thou answer. Whom hast thou met upon\nthe hill? For the witch woman hath told me a wearisome tale, which I shall\nnot lend my ear to.\"\n\nNow, when he spoke, his young bride neither answered nor came, but gazed\nfrom the threshold upon him in silence. So he got up in anger and went her\nway. Through the chamber strode he, and she was yet before him, and\nwithout sound went she down the hall and stair. So out through the open\ndoor, and the men-at-arms let her pass, though the Black Earl bid them\nstay her feet, and gazed bewildered, seeing only their stern master\nrunning alone, with fierce eyes, such as a hound doth cast upon a young\nhare. Quick as the Black Earl ran, the little bride was before.\n\nThrough sleepy woods and honey-perfumed plains, all through the night did\nhe chase her, but never once did he reach her, nor ever once did she pause\nto rest.\n\nWhen the morning sun was high, she led him up to the lights of Brown\nKippure, and there vanished from his sight.\n\nNow, when the Black Earl perceived this wondrous thing, he felt his heart\nsink with utter weariness, and without more seeking fell upon the moss.\nHad his eyes been not so hot with anger, slow tears of sorrow would have\nforced their way upon his cheeks, for now that he had her not his desire\nwas strong upon him to behold his bride.\n\nAs he lay upon the heather, he heard the shrill voice of his little\nbrother clamoring by his side.\n\n\"Be still,\" quoth he, \"for thou hast frightened away a fair dream that I\nfain would follow.\"\n\n\"But I would tell thee,\" said the little brother, \"of a strange thing, and\none to set thee full of laughter.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" quoth the Black Earl, \"of that I have no desire, lest thou place\nupon my head a cap and bells, and call me fool Roderick.\"\n\n\"And wherefore,\" said the little brother, \"shouldst thou laugh at fool\nRoderick?\"\n\n\"Because,\" quoth the Black Earl, \"he hath found a strange jewel when he\nhath lost it.\"\n\n\"Thy words I do not understand,\" saith the little brother. \"What was the\nstrange jewel that he hath and yet hath not?\"\n\n\"Love,\" quoth the Black Earl.\n\n\"That neither do I understand,\" saith the little brother, \"but now thou\nmust listen to my story.\"\n\nAnd of what he saith shall I sing, for his voice was sweeter than prose:\n\n  _\"Oh, brother, brother, come up to the lake waters gray,\n    Come up to the shore where I play;\n    For, oh! I saw on the bank asleep\n    A fair white nymph, and the slow waves creep,\n    To bear her away, away._\n\n  _\"Oh, brother, brother, I watched her through the day,\n    Saw her hair grow jewelled with spray.\n    Once her cheek was brushed by a robin's wing,\n    And a finch flew down on her hand to sing,\n    And was not afraid to stay._\n\n  _\"Oh, brother, brother, will she soon awaken be?\n    I would that she laugh with me.\n    She sleeps, and the world so full of sound;\n    She's deaf, like the deaths that are under the ground,\n    That I laugh and laugh to see.\"_\n\nNow shall I tell how the Black Earl heeded not the story of the little\nbrother, nor the tragedy that lay therein, for his ear was busy with\nanother sound.\n\n\"Hush,\" said the Black Earl, \"for hearest thou not a voice in trouble?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" cried the little brother; \"I hear naught save the laughing stream\nthat comes from the lake where my water-nymph lieth.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said the Black Earl again, \"for hearest thou not the voice of my\nmistress making a lamentation?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" saith the little brother; \"I hear naught save the moving of the\nreeds in the pushing waters, and thou wilt not listen to my story.\"\n\nNow went the little brother away in his anger, and found himself a play\namong the heather.\n\nBut the Black Earl bent above the stream and gazed long into its shallow\nturbulence with wonder and fear, for the words the stream said to him in\nits whisperings were as though spoken in the voice of his young bride.\n\nHe laid his hand in the flowing waters.\n\n\"Why art thou troubled, little stream?\" quoth he.\n\nBut the little stream stayed not its whispering.\n\n\"Sainted Mother, oh, pray for me!\" it murmured, in piteous prayer, \"and\nleave sweet mercy upon my soul.\"\n\nNow, when the Black Earl heard the voice of his lady coming from the\nwaters in such sorrow, he rose with a cry, and, his heart being full of\nfear, he knew at last the greatness of his love.\n\n\"Where art thou, then?\" he cried, in his woe. \"Whither shall I seek thee?\"\n\nBut the little stream passing his feet murmured its prayer in going; no\nother sound did he hear save the far-away laughter of his little brother.\n\n\"Oh, Mary, Mother, pray my soul to rest! Take mercy, Lord, on a soul\nafraid.\"\n\n\"Where are the lips from which thou hast stolen that cry?\" said the Black\nEarl; and, like an old man bent with trouble, he sought the banks, seeking\nfor the white form of his bride. \"Now,\" quoth he, \"well do I know this\nstream hath carried her last cry to my feet, and her drowning lips have\nbeen forced to sinful death to-night by my long cruelty.\"\n\nHe went up the hill as a man goeth to despair, slow and afraid; and when\nhe reached the little wood in whose bosom the lake was enshrined, he\npaused and looked around.\n\nOf this shall I sing, for so sad and piteous it is that my harp would fain\nsoothe me from tears:\n\n   _He looked into the deep wood green,\n      But nothing there did see;\n    He looked into the still water\n      Beneath, all white, lay she._\n\n   _He drew her from her cold, cold bed,\n      And kissed her cheek and chin;\n    Loosed from his neck his silken cloak,\n      To wrap her body in._\n\n   _He took her up in his two arms--\n      His grief was deep and wild;\n    He knelt beside her on the sod,\n      And sorrowed like a child._\n\n   _He blew three blasts upon his horn;\n      His men did make reply,\n    And came all quickly to his call,\n      Through brake and brier so high._\n\n   _And every man who saw her there\n      Went down upon his knee;\n    Behind her came Earl Roderick,\n      All pitiful to see._\n\n   _And in his trembling hand the helm\n      From his uncovered brow;\n    And \"Oh,\" he said, \"to love her well,\n      And know it only now!\"_\n\n   _So he did walk while she did ride\n      Through all the town away,\n    For greater than Earl Roderick\n      She did become that day._\n\nNow have I said how the heart of the Black Earl woke to love, and then was\nhumbled, as the ancient crone had foretold; but of his sorrowful years,\nhis desperate danger of eternal loss and his after-salvation, must I\nlikewise tell, if the story would be pitiful in the ending.\n\nTherefore shall I lay my harp aside, and so go back in my telling.\n\nAnd I bid thee remember how the little pale bride was wont to sit upon the\nmountain and watch the far lights in her father's home quench themselves\none by one.\n\nSo now of how she died shall I tell thee, and of what came to her in her\npassing, lest thou thinkest so innocent a child had laid violent hands\nupon her life, who only had met death through the breaking of her heart.\n\nHere sat she on the mountain, and the wild things spoke of her in her\nsilence. The red weasel, the bee, and the bramble, and many others, moved\nto watch her. Well have they known her in her young joyfulness; here had\nshe made the place she loved best--the high brow of the hill where she sat\nas a child and watched--on the one side the far-off city and the white\ntowers that held the wonder-knight of her dreams. Here had she sat and\nseen the gleam of his spear as he went with his hunters through the\nvalley; and here, too, had her mother come to tell her of her betrothal,\nso she had nigh fainted in her happiness, in looking upon the white tower\nthat was to be her home.\n\nHere had she learned the sweet language of the birds and flowers, and\nthey, too, had partaken of her joys; but of her sorrows they would not\nunderstand, for our joys and our laughter, are they not as the singing of\nthe bird and the dancing of the fly, who weep only when they meet death?\nIn our griefs do we not stand alone, who have in our hearts the fierce\ndesires of love and all the tragedies of despair?\n\nNow, as the young bride turned her slow feet up the mountain, down where\nher glad feet had turned as a maid, she sat her there by the lake.\n\nThe little creatures she was wont to love and understand gathered about\nher and wondered at her state.\n\n\"She hath returned,\" said the red weasel; \"see where she sitteth, her head\nupon her hand. I slew a young bird at her feet, and she spake no word, nor\ndid she care.\"\n\n\"It is not she,\" said a linnet, swaying on a safe spray, \"for had it been\nshe her anger would have slain thee.\"\n\n\"It is she,\" said the red weasel, laughing in his throat; \"but her eyes\nare hidden by her fingers, and she cannot see.\"\n\n\"It is not she,\" said a brown wren. \"Her cheek was full and rosy and her\nsong loud. This one sitteth all mute and pale.\"\n\n\"It is she,\" said the red weasel, \"who sitteth upon the mountain, her face\nhidden between her hands. She sitteth in silence, and who can tell her\nthoughts? She hath been to the great city.\"\n\n\"It is a small place,\" hummed a honey-bee. \"Once, long ago, she raised her\nwhite palm between her eyes and its smoke. 'See,' she laughed, 'my little\nhand can cover it.'\"\n\n\"It is so great,\" said the red weasel, \"that those who leave the mountains\nfor love of it return to us no more.\"\n\n\"Yet she hath returned,\" said a lone lark hanging in the sky, \"and I\nmyself have sung beside her ear.\"\n\n\"She came, yet she came not,\" said the red weasel. \"What did she answer\nwhen thou saidst that I had slain thy mate?\"\n\n\"She sighed, 'Thou singest a gay song, O bird!'\" hummed a golden beetle.\n\"My grief! that she cannot understand.\"\n\n\"She is lost to us indeed!\" said a honeysuckle swaying in the wind, \"for\nshe trod me beneath her feet when I held my sweet blossoms for her lips.\"\n\n\"And she tore me aside,\" cried the wild bramble, \"when I did but reach\ntowards her for embrace.\"\n\n\"She will know thee no more,\" said the red weasel; \"she hath been to the\ngreat city.\"\n\n\"She laid her lips upon me ere she went,\" spake the wild bramble, \"and\nsaid she would return to us soon.\"\n\n\"She bid me ring a merry chime,\" whispered the heather, \"and I move my\nmany bells now for her welcome, but she will not hear.\"\n\n\"She will speak with thee no more,\" said the red weasel; \"she hath walked\nin the city, like one goeth upon the fairy sleeping grass, and her soul\nhath forgotten us.\"\n\n\"She is still and cold,\" said a shining fly glancing through the air. \"I\nhave danced a measure under her eyes, and she did not see.\"\n\n\"She is dead,\" said the honey-bee, \"for when she would not look upon me as\nbefore, I drew my sword and stung her sharply, but she did not stir. She\nsat and gazed into the distance where the smoke like a great gray web\nlieth heavy. She is surely dead.\"\n\n\"She is not dead,\" said the red weasel; \"she hath been to the great city.\"\n\n\"Maybe there she hath found Death,\" said the shining fly, \"for his web\nreacheth far, and he loveth the dark places and hidden ways. He hideth,\ntoo, in the cool arbors of the wood, stretching a gray chain for our\nundoing. Maybe she found Death. He spreadeth ropes of pearls across our\npath, and looketh upon us from the shade; when the dance is gayest he\ncreepeth to spring. Maybe she hath reached for the pearls or hath danced\ninto his net.\"\n\nAnd so the fly sang of the watcher in the wood, and his song I shall sing\nthee, lest thou grow weary of my prose:\n\n   _Deep in the wood's recesses cool\n      I see the fairy dancers glide,\n    In cloth of gold, in gown of green,\n      My lord and lady side by side._\n\n   _But who has hung from leaf to leaf,\n      From flower to flower, a silken twine,\n    A cloud of gray that holds the dew\n      In globes of clear enchanted wine,_\n\n   _Or stretches far from branch to branch,\n      From thorn to thorn, in diamond rain?\n    Who caught the cup of crystal wine\n      And hung so fair the shining chain?_\n\n  _'Tis death the spider, in his net,\n      Who lures the dancers as they glide,\n    In cloth of gold, in gown of green,\n      My lord and lady side by side._\n\nBut a dragon-fly rattling his armor said, without heed of the singer, \"She\nis dead,\" for when she came among the heather the joyous spirit of the\nmountain met her and blew upon her hair and eyes. He kissed her worn cheek\nthat he had known so fair, and the soft rain of his sorrow fell to see the\npity of her brow. She passed all stiff and cold; she did not hear nor\nunderstand.\n\n\"Wind,\" quoth she, \"blow not so fierce.\"\n\n\"She is not dead,\" saith the red weasel; \"she hath been to the great\ncity.\"\n\nNow, when the young bride raised her white face from her hands and looked\nabout her, she could neither hear the speaking of the birds nor see the\nbeauty of the wild flowers, yet in her heart she had a memory of both.\nTurning to the little flying things that came about her with soft, beating\nwings, she said:\n\n\"Once ye spake to me, and could give comfort with your counsel and love.\nNow ye are lost in the voices of the city that ring forever in my ears.\"\n\nGazing upon the flowers, she said:\n\n\"Ye, too, your beauty hath faded. The gaudy flowers of the city have\nflashed their color in my eyes, so ye I cannot see or understand.\"\n\nThen she rose to her feet, though she scarce could stand, and, stretching\nher arms towards the great purple hills that surrounded her father's far\nhome, she said towards it:\n\n\"Why didst thou call me back since thou hast let me go from the sight of\nthe heights that would have been always a prayer to uplift my soul? Ahone!\nthat thy voice was loud enough to follow and give me unrest, that\nwhispered always of my father's house and the valley of my home. So must I\ncome each eve upon this hill to look upon it from my loneliness.\n\n\"Unloved am I, and unwished for, by him whom I have wedded. So my heart\ndieth within my breast, and my soul trembleth on the brink of my grave.\n\n\"Here upon the mountains, unprayed for and uncoffined, shall my body lie,\nfor thy voice hath called me forth.\n\n\"Here my black sins shall see and pursue me even to destruction; but in\nthe city I could have escaped with the crowding souls that confuse Death\nto count.\"\n\nThen, as a remembrance of her sins came heavy upon her, she gave a loud\ncry and covered her face with her hands.\n\nSo she stood without help upon the mountains, and because she was blind\nwith the city dust and deafened with its cries, she stood alone. The\npitying wild flowers blew their fragrance to her eyes, but they would not\nopen; the gentle birds spoke comforting whispers to her ears, but she\ncould not hear; the great hills held their arms about her and breathed\ntheir peace upon her brow. But this she did not know, and so stood alone\nto face Death.\n\nFirst turned she her face to where her father's castle stood on a far\nhill, and again turned she to see the white towers where she had lived and\nloved so vainly. And when her eyes met the glisten of the walls, her heart\nbroke with a little sigh, and she fell upon the ground. And she laid her\nweary body down beside the waters of the mountain lake. Her head with its\nloosened hair lay in the waters, so her lips, covered by the murmuring\nripples, breathed a prayer as she died for her passing soul. And the\nlittle stream that ran from the lake down the hill-side carried the prayer\nupon its breast as thou hast been told.\n\nNow, when the ghost of the little bride stood upright beside her fallen\nbody, she was sore afraid, and trembled much to leave the habitation she\nhad known in life.\n\nShe laid her spirit-hands upon the cold dead, and clung to it as though\nshe would not be driven forth. Many and terrifying were the sights that\nmet her when she opened her eyes, after passing through the change of\ndeath. Many and terrifying were the sounds that came to her ears, and she\nfeared she would be whirled away with the great clouds that passed her and\nwent like smoke into the skies. Cold she was and drenched with the rain\nthat fell everywhere around her; gray and misshapen were the moving masses\nunder her gaze; and only where her hands lay holding to her dead body did\nshe see aught of the world she had left behind. There the sweet green\ngrass lifted itself and a brier rose cast its blossom apart. There a bee\nsang, calling to her a little comfort among all the strange sounds that\nfilled her ears.\n\nAs she listened, she found the noises that troubled her were the cries of\nmany voices, and as she began to see more clearly in the great change that\nhad come to her, she knew the shadowy clouds rushing upward were the\nspirits of the dead on their dangerous swift way to heaven. And as she\nraised her face to follow their flight the rain fell salt into her mouth,\nso she knew it was the repentant tears of the passing ghosts.\n\nSo crouched she in that misty world, seeing not the green earth and the\npurple hills, but only the whirling shapes about her on every side, flying\nfrom earth to heaven, pursued by their black sins.\n\nAnd one in the valley of Baile-ata-Cliat, looking towards the mountains,\nsaid:\n\n\"See how the clouds fly black and fearful!\" But it was the hosts of\nspirits flying upward. \"See,\" quoth he, \"how the lightning flashes!\" But\nit was the opening of God's High Paradise to receive some spirit wellnigh\nspent. \"Hark,\" said he, \"how the wind moans and the rain beats upon the\nwindow!\" But it was the cry of the passing ghosts and their falling tears\nas their black sins fought and kept them from heaven.\n\nBut one who was a singer took his harp and sang, for he understood. Here\nis his song:\n\n   _They say it is the wind in midnight skies,\n      Loud shrieking past the window, that doth make\n    Each casement shudder with its storm of cries,\n      And the barred door with pushing shoulder shake._\n\n   _Ah no, ah no, it is the souls pass by,\n      Their lot to run from earth to God's high place,\n    Pursued by each black sin that death let fly\n      From their sad flesh, to break them in the chase._\n\n   _They say it is the rain from leaf to leaf\n      Doth slip and roll into the thirsting ground,\n    That where the corn is trampled sheaf by sheaf\n      The heavy sorrow of the storm is found._\n\n   _Ah no, ah no, it is repentant tears,\n      By those let fall who make their direful flight,\n    And drop by drop the anguish of their fears\n      Comes down around us all the awful night._\n\n   _They say that in the lightning-flash, and roar\n      Of clashing clouds, the tempest is about;\n    And draw their chairs the glowing hearth before,\n      And casement close to shut the danger out._\n\n   _Ah no! the doors of Paradise they swing\n      A moment open for a soul nigh spent,\n    Then come together till the thunder's ring\n      Leaves us half blinded by God's element._\n\nNow, the spirit of the young bride was not yet called upon to join their\nterrible flight, for until her body was laid beneath the clay the soul had\npower to stay beside it. So stayed the spirit of the young bride by her\ndead body till her ghostly eyes grew accustomed to the change which had\ncome to her. And when she found she could see the brown earth again and\nthe things thereon, she rose to her feet, and ran down the mountains to\nthe castle of Black Roderick, and there called thrice beside the gate, and\nfor her it was opened by the little brother, who gazed affrighted and ran\nfrom her.\n\n\"What hath come to thee?\" quoth she, and came upon him in his fear.\n\nAnd he looked not to her, but spake to a knight-at-arms, saying thus:\n\n\"Three times cried the voice of my brother's wife at the gates, and when I\nopened for her there was none outside.\"\n\nSo the little bride, hearing, cried out in her despair, for she had\nforgotten that she was no longer as these others.\n\nAnd when the two heard the cry, they were affrighted, and made the cross\nupon their foreheads.\n\n\"It is the banshee,\" quoth the knight, \"who weeps for some death.\"\n\nSeeing they feared her, the little bride passed sadly into the castle, and\ntimidly sought the chamber where the Black Earl was gone to crouch by the\nglowing fire.\n\nNow, when Black Roderick looked up and saw her, he sprang towards her so\nshe was afraid, and flitted before him like a shadow. And when he followed\nup the stair and into his own chamber, she faded like a shadow in the\nsunshine that came through the window, and the wind, coming down from the\nmountains and passing through the casement, drew her out upon its breast,\nand bore her back to the hills where her body lay awaiting its burial.\n\nAnd seeing it there, a misery fell upon her, so she raised her head and\nwept.\n\n\"Ahone!\" quoth she, \"poor body that hath no one to weep over thy\nloneliness, that must lie uncoffined and unprayed for, who wast so\ntenderly cared for in thy life! Where art thou, my father, where art thou,\nmy mother, that this should be? And where is he to whom this poor body was\ngiven to cherish and to love?\"\n\nAnd again she went to the castle of Black Roderick, and stood beside his\ndoor, the tears undried upon her cheek. And again sprang he towards her,\nso she was afraid, and flew before him down the winding stair and out into\nthe night, so he could no longer see her.\n\nAnd again the spirit of the young bride went back to the dead upon the\nhill-side, and, seeing it unburied and uncoffined, fell into tears.\n\n\"Never,\" saith she, \"shall I now reach heaven, if my body lieth without a\ngrave!\"\n\nAnd so sad was her soul at the thought that she went in her despair to the\ncastle of the Black Earl, and stood again upon his threshold full of\ntears.\n\nAnd when he looked up and saw her he was no longer fierce, but spake to\nher gently.\n\n\"Come hither,\" quoth he, \"my sad-faced bride. I would but ask thee one\nquestion. Come beside my chair.\"\n\nBut she answered him not at all, but withdrew from his presence, as though\nbidding him follow.\n\nOut into the night he followed, and pursued her without rest, till she\nalmost reached the high hill where her body lay uncoffined.\n\nAnd when they came in the morning to the little grove upon the side of the\nmountain, she felt a hand touch the poor, unmourned-for dead, and, with a\ngreat fear upon her, vanished from his eyes; so he fell upon the moss in\nhis disappointment and weariness.\n\nBut the spirit of the little bride flew to the side of her uncoffined body\nto protect it from desecration ere her lord had looked upon it. And there\nshe saw the little brother playing by the dead.\n\nAnd as she came he turned and ran down the mountain, for he had heard the\nvoice of Black Roderick calling; so the spirit of the little bride knew\nher task was done. And of how the Black Earl found her, and of what he\nsaid and did, have I told thee; but of how the spirit of the young bride\nenwrapped herself about the dead I have not spoken, nor of how she\nthrilled beneath the embraces of her lord, whose love she had at the last.\n\nWhen he stood beside her deep grave, that was dug in the little church-yard\nnigh to the castle, her spirit rose again from her body, and knew her hour\nof trial had come.\n\nAnd when the grave was closed and the mourners gone, the spirit stayed by\nthe grave, afraid.\n\nWhen evening came, the spirits of the dead rose in a white mist, each\nabove his grave, and all prepared for their swift and dangerous flight\ntowards the dark heavens.\n\n\"Now,\" saith she, \"my body can no longer protect me with its earthly\npresence. I am separated from the world, and am no more of it. I must\narise and meet death alone.\"\n\nThe first thing she knew of the great presence was a loud whirring of\nwings; she raised her head, and saw around her a crowd of evil birds. So\nafraid was she that she gave a loud and sudden cry, and at the sound the\nill birds rose and hovered in the air between her and heaven.\n\n\"My sins have discovered me,\" she cried, \"and now I fear death!\"\n\nAnd because she knew that before dawn she would have to account for her\nevil deeds, she lifted up her voice in loud keening. So sad was her cry\nthat the pitying wind bore it down upon his wings into the little village\nat the foot of the mountain, that the people might hear and pray for a\nsoul in its passing.\n\nBut the people in the village were busy even so late with the harvest, and\ndid not hear; only in one house where a mother sat with her sick child did\nthe cry come, and she closed the shutter and fell to prayer.\n\n\"'Tis the banshee who crieth,\" she whispered, \"and my Conneen so ill! 'Tis\nthe banshee, and Sheila with the cheek of snow. God bid the fairy pass,\nand set the angels at my door! Whisht!\" she cried to the playing young\nones, \"come beside my chair and pray.\"\n\nAnd of her fear shall I sing, lest thou grow weary of my prose:\n\n   _Oh, whisht! I hear the banshee keen,\n      All woful is her cry.\n    She comes along the gray boreen--\n      Pray God she pass us by._\n\n   _My wee Conneen is pale and weak,\n      I hold him to my side;\n    The rose is white on Sheila's cheek\n      Since her young lover died._\n\n   _The little children from their play\n      Creep to me full of fear;\n   \"Oh, whisht! the banshee comes,\" they say:\n     \"Whom does she weep for here?\"_\n\n   _But Sheila leaves my chair to go,\n      And flings the shutter wide;\n   \"Be it for me,\" she whispers low,\n     \"The banshee keened and cried.\"_\n\n   _God be between our house and harm,\n      For trouble comes full fleet.\n    I hold the babe close in my arm;\n      The fairy in the street._\n\nBut the wind that blew from the hill-side carried the keening of the\nlittle bride past the village, and blew it about the windows of the castle\nwherein Black Roderick dwelt. And as the cry keened and called, so did the\nsleepers turn in their beds and moan uneasily in their dreaming.\n\nWhen the cry passed the windows of the east, it went to the windows of the\nwest, and there it tapped softly with fingers of the wind and called three\ntimes:\n\n\"Roderick! Roderick! Roderick!\"\n\nAnd at the first call Black Roderick turned in his bed and groaned. And at\nthe second call he rose from his couch and said, in his anger:\n\n\"Who calleth, and will not let me rest?\"\n\nBut at the third call he rose and went to the window in wonder, and seeing\nnothing he crept cold and trembling to his bed, muttering the\nhalf-forgotten prayers of his childhood; so long he lay in fear and\namazement that he did not sleep till the lark hung singing in the heavens,\nand then he knew the night was gone and with it the ghosts that hide in\nthe darkness. So he turned his face to the wall and slept. But the spirit\nof the little bride was speeding on her swift and terrible race to\nParadise, and round her whirled three great black birds seeking for her\ndestruction. And as she flew, one caught her by the long hair that swept\nbehind her in the wind and drew her backward.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth she with a cry, \"I can fly upward no longer; some evil thing\ndraws me back from heaven.\"\n\nAnd as she spoke a voice came out of the dark skies, and said:\n\n\"Who holdeth back the passing soul?\"\n\nAnd the voice of the dark bird replied:\n\n\"Her anger, for she hath not submitted to her trials, but held herself\nrebellious; therefore do I draw her down.\"\n\nAnd the voice from high paradise called out, saying:\n\n\"Is there none to come to her succor, lest she be brought to her\ndestruction?\"\n\nAnd a bee humming on the hillside, hearing the voice, flew upward and\nstung the evil bird so it fell away into the darkness and was seen no\nmore.\n\nAnd the voice from the heavens cried again, saying:\n\n\"Who hath let the little soul go free?\"\n\nAnd the bee answered:\n\n\"Her gentleness, for she loveth all things, great and small, and hath fed\nthe honey-bee when the earth refused him its sweets.\"\n\nNow, as the spirit of the little bride flew upward, freed from the grasp\nof the evil bird, there came upon her again the cruel claws of one of\nthose two others that circled round her, holding her back upon her way.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth she, \"I shall never see the kingdom of heaven, and cannot\nreach the doors of paradise,\" and bitter exceedingly was her crying.\n\nBut again a voice came from the dark night, saying:\n\n\"Who holdeth back the coming soul from her place in heaven?\"\n\nAnd the black, evil bird answered:\n\n\"Her despair, for she hath not held her head high above her sorrows, nor\nhath borne in patience her griefs, but hath mourned the afflictions that\nwere put upon her till her heart hath broken under her grief. Therefore do\nI draw her down.\"\n\nAnd the voice from high paradise called out, saying:\n\n\"Is there none, then, to save her from eternal destruction?\"\n\nAnd a wild bramble upon the mountain, hearing the voice, lifted itself\nupward, and, throwing a long spray about the evil bird, tore it so with\nits thorns that it loosed its claws from the wrist of the young bride and\nflew into the gloom.\n\nAnd the voice from the heavens cried again, saying:\n\n\"Who hath let the soul go free?\"\n\nAnd the bramble answered, wafting the perfume of her flowers upward:\n\n\"Her sweetness, for her mind is beautiful as the song of the linnet, and\nshe turneth her foot aside to spare the lowly blossoms.\"\n\nNow, when once more the spirit of the little bride flew upward, the last\nand greatest of the evil birds fell upon her, and so strong was he and so\nevil that she had no strength to go farther.\n\n\"Now,\" quoth she, \"I am lost forever, and shall see not the fair place in\nparadise that was prepared for me.\" And she gave a loud and despairing\ncry. But a voice came again from the night, and saith:\n\n\"What evil thing keepeth the flying soul upon its way?\"\n\nAnd the dark bird answered:\n\n\"Her jealousy, for bitter was her heart against one whom Black Roderick\nhad loved ere she became his bride; and for this do I drag her down to her\ndestruction.\"\n\nAnd the voice from the high heavens spoke, saying:\n\n\"Is there none, then, to save her?\"\n\nAnd there looked up from the hillside the bright eyes of the red weasel,\nbut he crouched in the grasses without reply. And the grasp of the evil\nbird became stronger on the quivering soul that could no longer fly upon\nits way to heaven. And from the great wings of the bird black feathers,\nwrenched out in the struggle, flew down upon the earth, spreading evil\nwhere they fell.\n\nAnd the voice from heaven cried out again in sorrow exceedingly:\n\n\"Is there none, then, to save this soul from destruction?\"\n\nAnd the bee and the bramble, seeing the red weasel was loath to stir from\nthe grasses where he sat watching the desperate battle, fell upon him in\ntheir fury and forced him to rise.\n\n\"Never,\" quoth they, \"shalt thou have rest, nor thy children's children\npeace, while there's a bee in the air or a flower upon the thorn, if thou\ngoest not to the succor of her we love so well.\"\n\nThen the red weasel sprang into the air and seized the evil bird by the\nthroat; so he let go his hold on the spirit of the young bride and flew\naway into the darkness.\n\nAnd the voice from heaven cried out, saying:\n\n\"Who hath let the frail ghost free to enter the gates of paradise?\"\n\nAnd the red weasel answered:\n\n\"Her strength, for she hath conquered her own evil thoughts, and put them\naway forever.\"\n\nSo the spirit of the young bride reached the gates of paradise spent and\nwounded, and there upon the threshold stood an angel holding his hand to\ndraw her in.\n\nWhen his holy touch fell upon her, she rose whole and beautiful, and her\nbreast was full of joy for the moment.\n\nNow, the spirit of the young bride had been but a brief day in the golden\nplace of paradise, when she heard a far voice call upon her name in\nanguish; three times did it call upon her, and at each cry a sharp sorrow\nstruck her heart, as though a knife had entered therein.\n\nNow went she to the golden bar of heaven, and, leaning forth, looked down\nupon the earth, and she turned her north, and naught did she see save the\ncold face of the night with its millions of worlds whirling in the dark.\nAnd she looked south, and naught could she see but the gray of clouds\nheavy with storm; and she turned her east, and naught did she see save the\nshimmering blue of a summer sky. But when she turned her westward, she saw\nthe green earth, and of all upon it she sought none save Black Roderick,\nwho had used her so ill. And there upon his bed he lay in danger of death,\nand as he turned in his anguish he called ever upon her name, so her heart\nknew no longer the peace of paradise, and she became as one of the lost.\n\nTherefore did she rise up and approach the throne where the saints and\nangels knelt in continual devotion. But she could not see the golden seat,\nnor HIM who sat thereon. For around and above, and circling ever with\nrainbow wings, went the seraphim and cherubim in eternal worship, so it\nwas as though a great wheel of light turned continually.\n\nNow, when the spirit of the little bride saw this wonder, she was full of\nfear and dared not approach, but turned away weeping; and there, as she\nwept, she saw before her the seat of Mary, the Queen of Heaven, and ran\ntowards it with unfaltering feet.\n\n\"For,\" quoth she, \"she, too, had but one love, and, being woman, will\nunderstand.\"\n\nSo she knelt at the feet of Mary, and cried to her: \"Pray for me, Mother\nof Christ.\" And the Virgin turned to her in wonder at her tears.\n\n\"Art thou not happy,\" said she, \"in heaven?\"\n\nAnd the spirit of the little bride said: \"Nay, for the cries of my beloved\ncome upward from the earth and call to me in his anguish, so I fear he is\nin danger of death.\"\n\n\"And why doth thou fear death for him,\" said the Virgin Mary, \"since it\nmay bring to him the happiness of heaven?\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the little bride, \"were it thus, his cries would not hurt my\nheart so that I cannot hear the song of the angels. I fear he is lost\nforever.\"\n\n\"And what canst thou do, little soul,\" said the Blessed Mary, \"to save him\nif he cannot save himself?\"\n\n\"I can be with him in his destruction.\"\n\nNow, as the little soul said this terrible thing she fell forward upon her\nface, so afraid was she and so despairing.\n\n\"I can stand between him and the flames,\" said she, \"and hold my hand\nbeneath the burning waters that would fall upon his body.\"\n\nAnd then she lay silent.\n\nThen the Virgin looked upon her with eyes that were all pitiful and had\nmuch understanding.\n\n\"Thou wilt suffer,\" saith she, as though remembering something, \"to walk\nby his side and see his anguish, but thou wouldst suffer more wert thou\nforbidden this.\"\n\nSo Mary rose from her high place and went towards the high throne of\nheaven, and as she passed the whirling wings of the seraphim and cherubim\nceased to circle, but flew towards her from the throne. And to the little\nbride, who crouched afraid on the fragrant floor, it seemed as though a\ngreat wonder of bees had settled on some hidden sweet; countless wings\nglistened and flashed in the strange light that glowed from the opening\nflowers that formed the floor about the throne.\n\nIn and out, striking together in their eagerness to get nearer their\ndesire, went the countless wings of the angel hosts.\n\nAnd from the throne all the time there came forth a low singing like the\nhumming of bees. As the little bride listened there came to her ears the\nvoice of the Virgin praying for her before the throne of God, and in the\npauses of the prayer the countless voices of the fluttering seraphim and\ncherubim took up the refrain, \"Hear us, O Christ.\"\n\nNow suddenly all sound ceased, and the fluttering wings moved aside, and\nfrom their midst strode out a mighty angel of the Lord; and when he came\nupon the frightened soul of the little bride he took her by the hand, and,\nleading her to the gates of heaven, opened them that she might go forth.\n\nBut ere she could pass out he said, with great sadness:\n\n\"Thy little hands and feet are soft with the fragrant places of heaven;\nmuch wilt thou suffer if thou goest forth.\"\n\nAnd again he said:\n\n\"How canst thou leave the beauty and love of paradise, wherein thou mayst\nenter no more save thou art strong enough to conquer great dangers?\"\n\nBut the little soul listened not to him, but passed through the gates in\neager hurry. And as she went the angel followed her with his gaze; and so\ngreat was his pity--for he thought she might not re-enter the kingdom of\nheaven--that tears fell from his eyes upon her hand. Now, when the little\nbride went forth from the gates of heaven a chill wind blew upon her, so\nshe wellnigh fell upon the earth in anguish; but she took the two tears\nthat had fallen from the angel's eyes and hid them in her heart, and she\nbecame warm, and the sharp earth did not hurt her feet, nor did the wind\nof the cold world harm her.\n\nNow, when the spirit of the little bride came to the gates of the castle\nwherein dwelt Black Roderick, she saw the great changes that had come to\npass therein, for the day that had fallen to her in paradise was as seven\nyears on earth.\n\nWith her death had come strife and disunion among the clans, and now at\nthe walls stood the soldiers of her father, and within on his death-bed\nthe Black Earl who was dying, a prisoner in their hands.\n\nAnd as the little bride came to the gates of the garden without the\ncourtyard, she saw before them a strange and horrible coach. And the only\nlight that came from this dark carriage was from the red eyes of the six\nhorses who drew it, and their trappings swept the ground, black and\nmouldy. Now, the body of this coach was shaped like a coffin, and at the\nhead sat the driver.\n\nWhen the little bride gazed upon him in wonder who he could be, she saw\nthrough the misty winding-sheet that enfolded him a death's head. But when\nshe looked at him who sat at the foot of the coffin, she hid her face, for\nit was an evil creature who crouched here.\n\nNow, as the little bride paused at the gate of the garden a voice came\nfrom inside, and said:\n\n\"Wherefore comest thou?\"\n\nAnd he who sat at the foot of the coffin answered:\n\n\"Open, for I claim the soul of Black Roderick.\"\n\nAnd the voice that was within answered:\n\n\"Thou shalt come, for his cruelty hath driven my young daughter to her\ngrave, wherein she lieth while the birds sing, and the flowers blossom,\nand the earth is glad with youth and spring.\"\n\nSo he dropped the bolt and the door swung open, so the coach and its six\nhorses entered.\n\nNow, when the driver reached the door of the court-yard, he found it\nclosed against him, and he drew his coach up beside it and called in a\nhollow voice for entrance.\n\nAnd one cried from inside:\n\n\"Wherefore comest thou?\"\n\nAnd he who was inside answered:\n\n\"I claim the soul of Black Roderick.\"\n\nAnd the voice replied:\n\n\"Willingly do I open, for he hath slain my sweet sister with his chill\nheart and cruel ways, so she lieth in the dark earth who was the sunshine\nof our house.\"\n\nThen the door swung open so the black coach and its six horses could\nenter.\n\nAgain the strange coach drove on, till it came to the castle door, and\nthere the evil being who was inside cast himself upon the ground, and,\ngoing to the door, knocked thereon three times, and a woman's voice\nanswered, saying:\n\n\"Who art thou?\"\n\nAnd the evil one replied:\n\n\"I am he who claims the soul of Black Roderick.\"\n\nAnd the woman said:\n\n\"Welcome thou art, then, for he hath destroyed my heart's treasure and\nburied it in the ground; so I go sorrowing all my days for the suffering\nhe caused her on earth, and for her young and unready death.\"\n\nThen the bolts and the bars fell from the door with a great noise, and the\nevil thing entered the castle.\n\nNow, as Black Roderick lay upon his death-bed tossing and turning in his\nfever, there rushed unto him one of the serving-men in a great terror and\nfear.\n\nAnd of what they spoke together shall I sing thee, lest thou grow weary of\nmy prose:\n\n   _There is one at the door, O my master,\n      At the door, who is bidding you come!\n    Who is he that wakes me in the darkness,\n      Calling when all the world's dumb?_\n\n   _Six horses has he to his carriage,\n      Six horses blacker than the night;\n    And their twelve red eyes in the shadows\n      Twelve lamps he carries for his light._\n\n   _And his coach is a coffin black and mouldy,\n      A huge oak coffin open wide;\n    He asks for your soul, God have mercy!\n      Who is calling at the door outside._\n\n   _Who let him through the gates of my garden,\n      Where stronger bolts have never been?\n   'Twas the father of the fair little lady\n      You drove to her grave so green._\n\n   _And who let him pass through the court-yard,\n      By loosening the bar and chain?\n    Oh, who but the brother of your mistress\n      Who lies in the cold and the rain!_\n\n   _Then who drew the bolts at the portal\n      And into my house bade him go?\n    She, the mother of the poor little colleen\n      Who lies in her youth so low._\n\n   _Who stands that he dare not enter\n      The door of my chamber between?\n    Oh, the ghost of the fair little lady\n      Who lies in the church-yard green._\n\nNow, when the evil one saw the spirit of the young bride at the door, her\narms spread out in the form of a cross, he did not know what to do. And\nhad not Black Roderick, in his joy and desire, sprung from his bed on\nhearing the voice of his mistress bidding him fear not, all perchance had\ngone well.\n\nBut Roderick, sick and eager for the sight of his bride, flung open the\ndoor, and was seized by the evil one and carried away. Now, the spirit of\nthe little bride followed the horrible coach that contained her love, even\nto the flaming gates of hell, and there the evil one stopped and looked\nupon her with desire.\n\n\"Better,\" quoth he, \"a thousand times to let go this wretched fellow, who\nwill surely return to me later, if I can gain this soul who hath come even\nout of the kingdom of heaven.\"\n\nAnd, turning to the poor little bride, he said: \"Give thou thyself to me,\nand I will let this love of thine return to the world to work out his\nredemption.\"\n\nBut the little soul, weeping, saith:\n\n\"Nay, my soul belongeth to Christ in heaven, and I must not give it to\nthee; but for seven years shall I be thy slave if thou givest this dear\none to me at the end.\"\n\nSo the evil one thought to himself: \"Would I could steal this white soul\nfrom heaven to be the greatest gem in my crown of triumph, and to serve me\nseven years. At the end of that time her heart will incline to evil, and\nshe will become mine.\"\n\nAnd again she spoke to him, and of what she said I shall sing thee, lest\nthou grow weary of my prose:\n\n   _If you will let his young soul go free,\n      I will serve you true and well,\n    For seven long years to be your slave\n      In the bitterest place of hell._\n\n  _\"Seven long years if you be my slave\n      I will let his soul go free.\"\n    The stranger drew her then by the hand,\n      And into the night went he._\n\n   _Seven long years did she serve him true\n      By the blazing gates of hell,\n    And on every soul that entered in\n      The tears of her sorrow fell._\n\n   _Seven long years did she keep the place\n      To open the doors accurst,\n    And every soul that her tear-drops knew,\n      It would neither burn nor thirst._\n\n   _And once she let in her father dear,\n      And once her brother through.\n    Once came a friend she had loved full well:\n      Oh, bitter it was to do!_\n\nNow, no toil in the great halls of the evil one could have been more\nbitter to endure than to unbar the door for the lost souls; for her sweet\ntenderness was tortured most of all by the despairing ghosts that passed\nto their eternal perdition, and her hands felt guilty at letting them go\nthrough.\n\nBut of all the sorrows none was so great as for her eyes to see the\ntortures of Black Roderick, who stood beside her in his anguish, for the\ntears that fell upon him from her eyes gave him no relief, since he had\ninjured her on earth. She held her hands to hold the fiery waters that\nfell upon him, and her tender body strove to stand between him and his\ntortures in vain. Seeing her so endeavoring, the evil one spoke, saying:\n\n\"What hast thou about thee, little soul, that thou art free from my fire\nand torments?\"\n\nThen the little bride remembered the tears she had hidden in her heart,\nthat had fallen upon her in heaven from the angel's eyes, and she drew\nthem forth.\n\nAnd the tears spoke to her, saying:\n\n\"Put us not away, lest the torments overpower thee, so thou mayst never\ncome to the kingdom of heaven.\"\n\nBut the little bride lifted them upon the heart and mouth of Black\nRoderick, so he suffered no more the cruel tortures of the lost. Now, when\nthe evil one saw this, he smiled to himself, \"For,\" quoth he, \"now will\nshe know temptations, since she hath put away the angel's tears, and hath\nno protection save her own strength.\"\n\nAnd so bitter were her sufferings that the little bride cried out it was\nmore than she could bear.\n\nAnd the evil one, hearing her, said:\n\n\"Give thyself to me, and thou shalt suffer no more.\"\n\nBut she turned her face away, and made him no answer.\n\nThen Black Roderick, looking upon her, saw her anguish, and to his soul\ncame such bitter repentance that great tears fell from his eyes upon her,\nand every tear was as balm upon her sad and suffering flesh. So that when\nthe seven years were over she stood whole and without pain.\n\nNow, when the seven long years were at an end, she found the naming doors\nopened of themselves for her and Black Roderick to go forth. But when she\ntook her love by the hand, a great cry rose from the lost souls she had\nlet into the burning place during her seven years of trial. And in her\nheart was such grief she could not go. She heard her father's voice call\nto her, and the voice of her brother. Therefore went she to the throne of\nthe evil one, and begged him to grant her a boon.\n\n\"For I have worked long for thee and well,\" quoth she, \"and I beg of thee\nto let me carry forth as much treasure as my strength can bear.\"\n\n\"That,\" saith he, \"thou shalt have; all thou canst carry thou mayst take\nforth, if thou wilt give me for payment seven more years of service.\"\n\nNow, when the little bride heard this she bowed her head and wept.\n\n\"Seven long years,\" saith she, \"shall I serve thee more.\" She took Black\nRoderick by the hand, and stood by him at the open doors. \"Go thou\nupward,\" saith she, \"and await me in heaven.\"\n\nThen she closed the flaming gates, and took her place behind them. But the\nsoul of Black Roderick crouched outside, as a dog lieth on the threshold\nof his master. For seven long years he let no one approach the naming\ngates, so that not once were they opened during the last seven years of\nher trial. And when the day came for her to go forth, the little bride\nflung the gates apart with a loud cry of joy. She knew the evil one could\nbut grant the promise she had extorted, for she had served him well.\n\nAnd of the further trials and temptations that came to her shall I sing\nthee, lest thou grow weary of my prose:\n\n   _Seven long years did she serve him well\n      Until the last day was done;\n    And all the souls she had let in.\n      They clung to her one by one._\n\n   _And all the souls she had let through,\n      They clung to her dress and hair,\n    Until the burden that she brought forth\n      Was heavy as she could bear._\n\n   _The first who stopped upon her way\n      Was a Saint all fair to see,\n    And \"Sister, your load is great,\" she said,\n     \"So give it, I pray, to me.\"_\n\n  _\"Brigit I am; God sent me forth\n      That you to your love might go\"--\n    The woman she drew the fair robe aside,\n      And a cloven hoof did show._\n\n  _\"And I will not give it to you,\" she said,\n      Quick grasping her burden tight;\n    And all the souls that surrounded her\n      Clung closer in dire affright._\n\n   _The next who stopped her upon her way\n      Was an angel with sword aflame;\n   \"The Lord has sent for your load,\" he said:\n     \"St. Michael it is my name.\"_\n\n   _The woman drew back his gown of white,\n      And the cloven hoof did see.\n   \"Oh, God be with me this day,\" she said,\n     \"For bitter my sorrows be.\"_\n\n  _\"And I will not give it to you,\" she said,\n      And wept full many a tear.\n    And all the souls that her burden made\n      Cried out in desperate fear._\n\nNow, the spirit of the poor little bride stopped upon her way, and feared\nto go farther, for she knew not what to do nor where to go, and it seemed\nas though there were none to trust. And as she stood, with the trembling\nsouls clinging to her, from the far-off earth came the sweet singing of a\nrobin; and as the bird sang he came nearer and nearer, till the little\nbride could see his red throat pulsing with his song. And the song he bore\nupon his beak was her mother's prayer.\n\nNow, when the soul of the little bride heard this sweet singing, she\nbecame strong, and followed the bird even to the gates of heaven; and\nthere she paused, trembling, afraid to knock, for she had gone forth of\nher own free will, and she had returned with a burden that she had no\nleave to bring.\n\n\"And without these dear ones how could I enter?\" saith she; and the souls\ntrembled with her in her fear.\n\nBut the robin tapped upon the golden gates three times with his beak, and\nflung his song into the shining blue of the skies.\n\nThen a voice came forth, saying:\n\n\"By what right comest thou, of all birds, to disturb the peace of paradise\nwith thy singing?\"\n\nAnd the robin answered:\n\n\"Because I alone, of all birds, strove to draw forth the cruel nails in\nCalvary; so my breast is ever red with the sacred blood.\"\n\n\"And what song bearest thou upon thy bill,\" saith the voice, \"that would\nbe welcome here?\"\n\n\"The prayer of a mother for the soul of her little child,\" quoth the\nrobin.\n\nWhen he saith this the doors of paradise were opened, and upon the\nthreshold stood one of the archangels of the Lord, and his face was glad\nand glorious as the sun. And when he saw the little bride, with her burden\nof trembling souls clinging to her dress and hair, he bade her enter.\n\n\"Thou hast done well,\" saith he, \"and there is joy in heaven over thy\nreturn.\"\n\nAnd as he led her by the hand the souls dropped from her and flew through\nthe golden gates with loud cries of joy.\n\nSo brought she to heaven the soul of Black Roderick, that had been lost\nbut for her great and suffering love. And from the closed gates none came\nforth save the little robin.\n\nNow must I end my tale, lest thou grow weary of the telling.\n\nAnd if more thou requirest, listen thou to the robin, who alone of all\nbirds hath seen the glories of paradise, and who telleth to all men, if\nthey would but hear, his pride and his joy. Even in winter, when snow and\nhunger chill him almost to death, when all other birds are silent with\ndiscontent, he sitteth upon a low bough and telleth the story of Black\nRoderick and his little bride, and of many things good to the heart of\nman. Listen thou and hearken.\n\n\nTHE END","title":"The Story and Song of Black Roderick","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":13797}