“And now he stately steps his hall,
      ’A summons from the king? 
    My armour bright, my casque and plume,
      My sword and buckler bring.

    “’Blow, warder, blow.  Thy horn is shrill,
      My liegemen hither call,
    For I must away to the south countrie,
      And spears and lances all.’

    “‘Oh, go not to the south countrie!’
      His lady weeping said;
    ’Oh, go not to the battle-field,
      For I dreamed of the waters red!’

    “‘Oh, go not to the south countrie!’
      Cried out his daughter dear;
    ’Oh, go not to the bloody fight,
      For I dreamed of the waters clear!’

    “Sir Bertine raised his dark visor,
      And he kissed his fond lady;
    ’I must away to the wars and fight
      For our king in jeopardy!’

    “The lady gat her to the tower,
      She clomb the battlement;
    She watched and greet, while through the woods
      The glittering falchions went.

    “The wind was high, the storm grew loud,
      Fierce rose the billowy sea;
    When from Sir Bertine’s lordly tower
      The bell boomed heavily!

    “’O mother dear, what bodes that speech
      From yonder iron tongue?’
    ’’Tis but the rude, rude blast, my love,
      That idle bell hath swung.’

    “Upon the rattling casement still
      The beating rain fell fast;
    When creeping fingers wandering thrice
      Across that window passed.

    “’O mother dear, what means that sound
      Upon the lattice nigh?’
    ’’Tis but the cold, cold arrowy sleet,
      That hurtles in the sky.’

    “The blast was still—­a pause more dread
      Ne’er terror felt—­when, lo! 
    An armed footstep on the stair
      Clanked heavily and slow.

    “Up flew the latch and tirling-pin,
      Wide swung the grated door,
    Then came a solemn stately tread
      Upon the quaking floor!

    “A shudder through the building ran,
      A chill and icy blast;
    A moan, as though in agony
      Some viewless spirit passed!

    “’O mother dear, my heart is froze,
      My limbs are stark and cold.’ 
    Her mother spake not, for again
      That turret bell hath tolled.

    “Three days passed by.  At eventide
      There came an aged man,
    He bent him low before the dame,
      His wrinkled cheek was wan.

    “’Now, speak, thou evil messenger,
      Thy tidings show to me.’ 
    That aged man, nor look vouchsafed,
      Nor ever a word spake he.

    “‘What bringest thou?’ the lady said,
      ‘I charge thee by the rood.’ 
    He drew a signet from his hand,
      ’Twas speckled o’er with blood.

    “’Thy husband’s grave is wide and deep. 
      In St Alban’s priory
    His body lies, but on his soul
      Christ Jesus have mercy!’"[28]