Sir Peter and Mettelille

O Lord, our sorrows deign to hear,
And calm the troubled breast;
Sad lot is his who bears a heart
With secret grief oppressed.

Sir Peter wooed fair Mettelille,
A long and weary while;
Five years in vain he press'd his suit.
He never won a smile.

"Now listen, gentle Mettelille,
"No longer spurn my love,
"And all the days, I yet may live,
"My kindness you shall prove."

"My brother serves the King in court,
"A gallant knight is he;
"Go, ask that brother his consent,
"'Tis he should judge for me."

"To ask your brother his consent
"My time will not allow;
"But meet me, dearest Mettelille,
"Beneath the greenwood bough."

"If you not one short hour can spare
"For my sake him to see,
"Me will you never live to meet,
"Beneath a greenwood tree."

"If you to this will not comply,
"So strong a Rune I'll write,
"That both your honour and your love
"I'll win in your despite."

"And if you throw that Rune on me,
"And vilely work my fall,
"To God my lifelong night and day
"For vengeance I will call.

So strong a Rune Sir Peter wrote,
And under her mantle threw.
It made her very fingers bleed,
And tears of anguish drew.

Beneath tli unwary maiden's cloak
He threw that fatal Rune,
And stepped at once aboard his ship,
And sail'd that very noon.

The seasons slowly pass'd away,
Till gone were winters three;
And sad was she, so much she long'd,
The knight again to see.

She rose, the gentle Mettelille,
Drew on her scarlet cloak,
And mounted to the ladies bower,
And greeted them and spoke.

"Hail all ye dames of high degree!
"And hail, ye maidens fair!
"Is here one who will go Avith me,
"My weal or woe to share?"

Then little Christel up and spake;
"It's I, dear Mettelille,
"It's I will be your faithful friend
"In good luck or in ill."

Silent and sorrowful of mood
She left her father's town.
Bare-foot, bare-headed, unarray'd.
In but a silken gown.

Fearless alike of toil and storm
She reach'd the sandy shore;
And while herself she steer'd the boat,
Fair Christel pull'd the oar.

She sail'd across the briny sea
With sorrow, pain and toil,
And came where in a foreign land
Sir Peter owned the soil.

The watchman on his turret stood,
And looked around so wide,
And saw the gentle Mettelille,
And boat beneath her glide.

The watchman donned his mantle blue,
And duly sped his way,
To where asleep in lofty bower
The knight Sir Peter lay.

"Two maids of rank from o'er the sea
"Are come this morn to town,
"Barefoot, bareheaded, unarray'd,
"In but their silken gown."

"And are there really landed here
"Two maids from o'er the sea?
"Then one will be fair Mettelille,
"Quick! bring her in to me."

Sir Peter rose from downy bed,
And round him wrapped his cloak.
And up to his mother's chamber went.
And thus the dame bespoke.

"Hail! dearest mother, prithee rise,
"In robe so rich array'd,
"And meet and welcome Mettelille,
"My long-sought lovely maid."

Those ladies in his court he met,
And stretched thorn forth his hand;
"Right welcome, gentle Mettelille,
"To this our foreign land."

"Hark ye, Sir Peter, what ye' ve done,
Is grievous wrong and shame;
To lure me from my father's house,
"And sully thus my fame."

"Nay listen, gentle Mettelille,
"No harm shall you betide,
Tor scarlet you shall daily wear,
"And slumber at my side."

"And though I wore your ruddy gold,
"And dress'd in silk so red,
"If I should your mere leman be,
"With grief I soon were dead."

"Nay listen, gentle Mettelille,
"No griefs have you to fear;
"In wedlock you shall live with me,
"And richest scarlet wear."

He warmly press'd her fair white hand,
Her tears he kindly dried.
And up to his mother's bower aloft
"He led his trembling bride.

Sir Peter's mother tapp'd her cheek,
And gently drew her near;
"Welcome, my dearest Mettelille,
"Welcome, my daughter here!

"And let thy bosom, Mettelille,
"From sorrow now be free,
"For I will, all the days I live,
"A mother be to thee."

Sir Peter, he too, kindly spake,
Press'd on her lips a kiss.
And sware that all the wealth he own'd,
Should aid their mutual bliss.

She on his bosom laid her head,
And deeply did she sigh;
"I'm come from home to a foreign land,
"On you alone rely."

Sir Peter, like a gallant knight,
His troth did not betray.
But when the month was duly past,
He held his wedding day.