Sir Karel’s Lyke-Wake

It was young Sir Karel
His mother’s rede did pray,
If he should to the cloister ride
And bear his love away.
—The roses and the lilies all a-blowing.

“Shalt seem to die, a corse shalt lie
In shroud the bier upon,
And ne’er a one will seek to prove
If thou art living man.”

Late, so late at even
The sickness on him fell;
All in the morning early
They tolled for him the bell.

They’ve ta’en him, young Sir Karel,
And streeked him for a corse,
And all to tell the tidings
His page has taken horse.

Up and into the cloister
All with the bier they hied,
The Prior came to meet them
With mickle pomp and pride.

Forth they went, the singing-boys,
Clad all in scarlet red,
They bade the maidens come to watch:
“For young Sir Karl is dead.”

It was little Kirsten
Spake with her mother dear:
“And may I to the watching wend
Over Sir Karel’s bier?”

“Yea, do thou on thy scarlet weed,
And deck thy head with gold;
But be thou ’ware of young Sir Karl,
His wiles are manifold!”

She entered in, the little maid,
Amid the tapers’ shine,
She could not see them burning bright,
So tearful were her eyne.

Beside his head she sat her down,
And for his soul she prayed:
“Alas, thou wast my heart’s delight
In the days ere thou wast dead!”

Beside his feet she sat her down,
And smoothed the linen white:
“Oh, in the days ere thou wast dead
Thou wast my heart’s delight!”

Right softly then he up and spake:
“Now cease from tene and tear,
For lo, ’tis all for love of thee
I lie upon the bier!

“My steed stands in the cloister garth
A-tarrying all for thee;
Wilt thou now, little Kirsten,
Fare forth afar with me!”

It was young Sir Karel
Rose straightway from the dead;
And as they reached the cloister door
A gay good-night she bade.

The nuns they all sat silent,
And on their books read they,
They thought ’twas GOD’s good angel
That bore the maid away.

The nuns they all sat silent,
Each to herself said she:
“GOD grant that His good angel
May come eftsoon for me!”
—The roses and the lilies all a-blowing.