Sang a golden-bearded king
  Straightway to her feet, 220
Sang him silent where he knelt
  In eager anguish sweet. 
But when the clear voice died away,
  When longest echoes died,
He stood up like a royal man
  And claimed her for his bride. 
So three maids were wooed and won
  In a brief May-tide,
Long ago and long ago.

JESSIE CAMERON

’Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
  Hear me but this once,’ quoth he. 
’Good luck go with you, neighbor’s son,
  But I’m no mate for you,’ quoth she. 
Day was verging toward the night
  There beside the moaning sea,
Dimness overtook the light
  There where the breakers be. 
’O Jessie, Jessie Cameron,
  I have loved you long and true.’—­ 10
’Good luck go with you, neighbor’s son,
  But I’m no mate for you.’

She was a careless, fearless girl,
  And made her answer plain,
Outspoken she to earl or churl,
  Kindhearted in the main,
But somewhat heedless with her tongue,
  And apt at causing pain;
A mirthful maiden she and young,
  Most fair for bliss or bane. 20
’Oh, long ago I told you so,
  I tell you so to-day: 
Go you your way, and let me go
  Just my own free way.’

The sea swept in with moan and foam,
  Quickening the stretch of sand;
They stood almost in sight of home;
  He strove to take her hand. 
’Oh, can’t you take your answer then,
  And won’t you understand? 30
For me you’re not the man of men,
  I’ve other plans are planned. 
You’re good for Madge, or good for Cis,
  Or good for Kate, may be: 
But what’s to me the good of this
  While you’re not good for me?’

They stood together on the beach,
  They two alone,
And louder waxed his urgent speech,
  His patience almost gone:  40
’Oh, say but one kind word to me,
  Jessie, Jessie Cameron.’—­
‘I’d be too proud to beg,’ quoth she,
  And pride was in her tone. 
And pride was in her lifted head,
  And in her angry eye
And in her foot, which might have fled,
  But would not fly.

Some say that he had gipsy blood;
  That in his heart was guile:  50
Yet he had gone through fire and flood
  Only to win her smile. 
Some say his grandam was a witch,
  A black witch from beyond the Nile,
Who kept an image in a niche
  And talked with it the while. 
And by her hut far down the lane
  Some say they would not pass at night,
Lest they should hear an unked strain
  Or see an unked sight. 60