Fair Hillelille and Sir Judah

There lay and dreamed fair Hillelille
Alone in her bower so high,
She never should be a wedded wife,
And yet would in childbed die.

At dead of the night fair Hillelille
From heavy sleep awoke.
And, all so vivid had been her dream,
In fright to her mother spoke.

"How strange, dear mother, the dream I dreamt,
"As e'en I was sleeping here!
"What anguish I feel, God only knows,
"Or what I may have to fear.

"Oh! strange, dear mother, my midnight dream,
"Th' Almighty my conduct guide!
"All through my body I seem'd to feel
"The sword of Sir Judah glide/'

Awake her listening mother lay,
III dreams her especial skill;
"Oh heed thee well, my daughter dear,
"It surely must bode some ill.

"Oh! heed theo well, my daughter dear,
"Beware of a scheming foe;
"Sir Judah against thy honour plots,
"As falcon besets a roe."

"My troth Sir Judah shall never gain,
"His suit I shall aye repel,
"And rather will take what wealth I own,
"And live in a cloister cell/'

"Oh grieve me not, Hillelill, daughter mine,
"By taking the fatal vow,
"My pride, and the fairest of all our isle,
"My only child art thou.

"But seat thee awhile in thy maiden bower
"To broider with golden thread,
"Till he. Sir Judah, has plighted troth
"Some other fair maid to wed."

And there eight weary years she sat
So tedious and so long,
And never could hear in all that time
A mass or a vesper song.

Sir Judah wrote to his friends around
He would on a journey ride,
But came at nightfall, and lay in wait
In under the mountain side.

The gentle Hillelill left her bow'r
Her mother for leave to pray;
"And now may I safely drive to church,
"Sir Judah is far away!"

"Aye! go thou mayest, dear daughter mine,
"For danger is none at hand;
"The knight to a widow has plighted troth
"Afar in a foreign land/'

Fair Hille was driving so glad to church,
Was passing the greenwood shaw,
As under a tree in evil hour
Sir Judah himself she saw.

"Good morrow, my gentle Hillelill,
"And whither then all alone?
"Say wilt thou show me the same contempt,
"And ever my claim disown?

"Three times so humbly I made my suit
"With all my kith and kin,
"Your hand, you have sworn by all that's good,
"I never may hope to win."

"Now hark thee, my dearest Sir Judah, hark!
"And let me this journey ride,
"And then by all that is good I swear
"To hold me thy trothplight bride."

"And faithful thou mightest a month remain,
"Aye two regard thine oath,
"But comes the suitor thou lovest more,
"Thou givest to him thy troth.

In greenwood was Hillelille's bridal bower,
Her bed of the linden leaf, "
And two little sons she bare the knight.
But died at their birth, of grief.

"With all my kindred with due respect
"Three times I have come to woo,
"You said that I had no morning gift,
"None such as to you was due.

"Go now to your home, fair Hillelille,
"Sit down at your mother's board;
"You never shall see the happy day,
"I greet you with e'en a word."

"But" answered the gentle Hillelille,
Poor sorrowful hapless wife;
"Should once to my kin the tale be told,
"This outrage will cost your life."

"Now as to your kin and all their wrath,
"To fear it I do not need,
"For off on the salty sea I sail,
"And vengeance I little heed."

The gentle Hille went weeping home.
Tore off her crown of gold,
And deeply and bitterly sigh'd and sobb'd,
But could not her tale unfold.

Her kind good mother to Hille came
To welcome her home again;
"But what has the priest in his sermon said
"To cause thee so bitter pain?

"Speak to me, dearest daughter mine,
"And tell me where hast thou stay'd;
"For other folk, all, who went to church,
"To bed and to sleep are laid."

"Sir Judah it is has wrought me shame,
"And lifelong and daily care;
"Ah! luckless it was and doom'd for ill,
"That me any mother bare!"

"But cease thy plaining, dear daughter mine,
"As ill as thy journey sped,
"For soon as thy kinsmen hear the tale,
"The villain Sir Judah's dead."

"Ah! mother, in vain ray kinsmen threat
"His outrage to make him rue,
"Sir Judah is sailing the salty sea,
"Nor cares he what they may do."

For many a long and weary week
She neither had laugh'd nor play'd.
Nor pastime nor kindly words avail'd
To cheer the drooping maid.

Sir Judah he steer'd his bark from shore.
And sail'd on the salty tide.
Nor came to his native land again,
Till after the maid had died.

Fair Hillelill, when the forty weeks
In tedious course were gone,
Slie ask'd of her dearest mother leave
To go to the room of stone.

And into the room of stone she went,
I do but the truth declare,
The hapless mother in childbed died
With two little sons, she bare.

Sad scene it was in the room of stone,
And tears in every eye.
As laid was on Hille's tender lips
A gag to check her cry.

The gentle Hillelille spake but this,
And e'en with her dying breath;
"Go bid ye a thousand times farewell
"To him who has caused my death.

'And send Sir Judah my infant boys,
"And set them before his board,
"The' he, in return for the woes he caused,
"Would give me no friendly word."

That night she turn'd to the chamber wall,
And sank to a guiltless death;
She lean'd her back in her mother's arms.
And calmly resigned her breath.

That very same night Sir Judah woke.
Where far far off he slept.
And scared with a vivid and fearful dream
His silence no longer kept.

"Methought to a church with all my men
"A mass I had gone to hear,
"And fell my clothes on the pavement down,
"And there was my body bare."

Awake by his side his comrade lay;
"'Tis this that thy dreams portend;
"The loss of thy clothes will plainly say,
"Thou losest thy dearest friend.

"And that thou hast dreamt that thou wast bare,
"Lost even thy scarlet pall,
"It means that thy lady the first shall die,
"And thou the next of all."

As steer'd Sir Judah his bark ashore,
He heard the island bell;
"Grant heaven it be not for Hillelill
"Is tolling that doleful knell!"

Sir Judah in haste with all his men
To th' island churchyard hied.
And saw on her bier, a clay-cold corpse,
His Hille, his gentle bride.

"Sir Judah, 'tis thou" the mother said,
"'Tis thou that the maid beguiled;
"Through thee she lies on her bier a corpse,
"My dear and my only child.

"And, villain," the poor sad mother cried.
And fiercely she drew her knife;
"Had not my daughter so pray'd for thee,
"This outrage would cost thy life."

"Ye let my infants to church be brought,
"And rear them in Christian lore;
"I go with my Hille to church today
"And come from it back no more.

"There's nothing left me, but this cold steel,
"To lessen my sorrow's smart."
He fix'd it firmly against a stone,
And drove it through his heart.

Yet spake Sir Judah, as on the ground
All bleeding he lay and cold;
"These infant boys are my own true sons,
"And heirs to my land and gold."