Wyseby

110 wyseby: a legend
Then the greenwood deeps they were silent all,
And song arose not at evening's fall;
For the maid had gone where song sounds highef'
Than the highest note of earth's mightiest lyre.
And the forest minstrel, at lady's call,
Sang in feudal tower and in lordly hall ;
And unmeaning smiles from a heartless throng
Was the tinsel meed of eternal song ;
And the minstrel thought in his proudest hour
Of the foresc maid and the greenwood bower.
Then his soul grew sad, and he hied away
From the hall of state and the castle gay,
A nd sought, as the evening's shadows fell,
The haunts of his youth, in the forest dell.
But the merry echoes were silent all,
For no song arose at the evening's fall ;
And he sought in vain in the wonted shade
For the spirit of song, — the greenwood maid.
Then he broke the strings of his harp in twain,
And their magic numbers ne'er rose again ;
But in half a moon, oh ! full well slept he,
With the forest maid 'neath the greenwood tree.
" Fair maiden," said the minstrel, " methinks the
spirits of song might envy thy power over sweet
sounds. Deign to inform a member of the joyous
craft who framed that touching strain."
" He framed it," said the fair songstress, turning
quick upon the speaker, but betraying no signs
of surprise or fear, ''■ long, long ago. It is a sad
song, minstrel ; but it was framed in glad hours, and
our hearts grew happy while our voices joined in it.
He thought not of her then — no, no. Ah! there
were merry days then. Hast seen her, minstrel?
Ye of the joyous craft, wandering from castle to