THE BRIDE'S PRELUDE

SISTER," said busy Amelotte

To listless Aloyse;

Along your wedding-road the wheat
Bends as to hear your horse's feet,
And the noonday stands still for heat."

Amelotte laughed into the air

With eyes that sought the sun : But where the walls in long brocade Were screened, as one who is afraid Sat Aloyse within the shade.

And even in shade was gleam enough
To shut out full repose

From the bride's 'tiring-chamber, which
Was like the inner altar-niche

Whose dimness worship has made rich.

Within the window's heaped recess
The light was counterchanged

In blent reflexes manifold

From perfume-caskets of wrought gold
And gems the bride's hair could not hold,

All thrust together: and with these
A slim-curved lute, which now,
At Amelotte's sudden passing there,
Was swept in somewise unaware,
And shook to music the close air.

Against the haloed lattice-panes

The bridesmaid sunned her breast;
Then to the glass turned tall and free,
And braced and shifted daintily
Her loin-belt through her côte-hardie.

The belt was silver, and the clasp
Of lozenged arm-bearings;

A world of mirrored tints minute

The rippling sunshine wrought into 't,

That flushed her hand and warmed her foot.

At least an hour had Aloyse

Her jewels in her hair

Her white gown, as became a bride,
Quartered in silver at each side-
Sat thus aloof, as if to hide.

Over her bosom, that lay still,
The vest was rich in grain,
With close pearls wholly overset:
Around her throat the fastenings met
Of chevesayle and mantelet.

Her arms were laid along her lap
With the hands open: life

Itself did seem at fault in her :
Beneath the drooping brows, the stir
Of thought made noonday heavier.

Long sat she silent; and then raised
Her head, with such a gasp

As while she summoned breath to speak
Fanned high that furnace in the cheek
But sucked the heart-pulse cold and weak.

(Oh gather round her now, all ye
Past seasons of her fear,—

Sick springs, and summers deadly cold!
To flight your hovering wings unfold,
For now your secret shall be told.

Ye many sunlights, barbed with darts
Of dread detecting flame,-

Gaunt moonlights that like sentinels
Went past with iron clank of bells,-
Draw round and render up your spells !)

"Sister," said Aloyse, "I had

A thing to tell thee of

Long since, and could not.

But do thou

Kneel first in prayer awhile, and bow

Thine heart, and I will tell thee now."

Amelotte wondered with her eyes;
But her heart said in her:

"Dear Aloyse would have me pray
Because the awe she feels to-day

Must need more prayers than she can say.”

So Amelotte put by the folds

That covered up her feet,

And knelt,-beyond the arras'd gloom
And the hot window's dull perfume,-
Where day was stillest in the room.

"

Queen Mary, hear," she said,

To Jesus the Lord Christ,

"and say

This bride's new joy, which He confers,
New joy to many ministers,

And many griefs are bound in hers."

The bride turned in her chair, and hid
Her face against the back,

And took her pearl-girt elbows in
Her hands, and could not yet begin,
But shuddering, uttered, "Urscelyn ! "

Her face, as if all heart did fail,
And sat with shut eyes, dumb and pale.

Amelotte still was on her knees

As she had kneeled to pray.

Deeming her sister swooned, she thought,
At first, some succour to have brought;
But Aloyse rocked, as one distraught.

She would have pushed the lattice wide
To gain what breeze might be;
But marking that no leaf once beat
The outside casement, it seemed meet
Not to bring in more scent and heat.

So she said only: "Aloyse,

Sister, when happened it

At any time that the bride came
To ill, or spoke in fear of shame,

When speaking first the bridegroom's name ?

A bird had out its song and ceased

Ere the bride spoke. At length

She said: "The name is as the thing:-
Sin hath no second christening,

And shame is all that shame can bring.

"In divers places many an while I would have told thee this;

But faintness took me, or a fit

Like fever. God would not permit

That I should change thine eyes with it.

"Yet once I spoke, hadst thou but heard :That time we wandered out

All the sun's hours, but missed our way
When evening darkened, and so lay
The whole night covered up in hay.

"At last my face was hidden: so,
Having God's hint, I paused
Not long; but drew myself more near
Where thou wast laid, and shook off fear,
And whispered quick into thine ear

'Something of the whole tale. At first
I lay and bit my hair

For the sore silence thou didst keep:
Till, as thy breath came long and deep,
I knew that thou hadst been asleep.

"The moon was covered, but the stars
Lasted till morning broke.

Awake, thou told'st me that thy dream
Had been of me,-that all did seem
At jar, but that it was a dream.

"I knew God's hand and might not speak. After that night I kept

Silence and let the record swell:
Till now there is much more to tell
Which must be told out ill or well."

She paused then, weary, with dry lips
Apart. From the outside

By fits there boomed a dull report
From where i' the hanging tennis-court
The bridegroom's retinue made sport.

The room lay still in dusty glare,
Having no sound through it
Except the chirp of a caged bird

That came and ceased: and if she stirred,
Amelotte's raiment could be heard.

Quoth Amelotte: "The night this chanced Was a late summer night

Last year! What secret, for Christ's love, Keep'st thou since then? Mary above! What thing is this thou speakest of?

"Mary and Christ! Lest when 'tis told
I should be prone to wrath,—
This prayer beforehand! How she errs
Soe'er, take count of grief like hers,
Whereof the days are turned to years!"

She bowed her neck, and having said,
Kept on her knees to hear;

And then, because strained thought demands
Quiet before it understands,

Darkened her eyesight with her hands.

So when at last her sister spoke,

She did not see the pain

O' the mouth nor the ashamed eyes,
But marked the breath that came in sighs
And the half-pausing for replies.

This was the bride's sad prelude-strain :"I' the convent where a girl

I dwelt till near my womanhood,
I had but preachings of the rood
And Aves told in solitude

"To spend my heart on: and my hand Had but the weary skill

To eke out upon silken cloth

Christ's visage, or the long bright growth
Of Mary's hair, or Satan wroth.

"So when at last I went, and thou,
A child not known before,
Didst come to take the place I left,-
My limbs, after such lifelong theft
Of life, could be but little deft

"In all that ministers delight

To noble women: I

> Had learned no word of youth's discourse, Nor gazed on games of warriors,

Nor trained a hound, nor ruled a horse.

"Besides, the daily life i' the sun

Made me at first hold back. To thee this came at once; to me It crept with pauses timidly;

I am not blithe and strong like thee.

"Yet my feet liked the dances well,
The songs went to my voice,
The music made me shake and weep;
And often, all night long, my sleep
Gave dreams I had been fain to keep.

"

'But though I loved not holy things, To hear them scorned brought pain,They were my childhood; and these dames Were merely perjured in saints' names And fixed upon saints' days for games.

"And sometimes when my father rode
To hunt with his loud friends,
I dared not bring him to be quaff'd,
As my wont was, his stirrup-draught,
Because they jested so and laughed.

At last one day my brothers said,
'The girl must not grow thus,-
Bring her a jennet,-she shall ride.'
They helped my mounting, and I tried
To laugh with them and keep their side,

"But brakes were rough and bents were steep Upon our path that day:

My palfrey threw me; and I went

Upon men's shoulders home, sore spent,
While the chase followed up the scent.

"Our shrift-father (and he alone
Of all the household there
Had skill in leechcraft) was away

When I reached home. I tossed, and lay
Sullen with anguish the whole day.

"For the day passed ere some one brought To mind that in the hunt

Rode a young lord she named, long bred
Among the priests, whose art (she said)
Might chance to stand me in much stead.

"I bade them seek and summon him:
But long ere this, the chase
Had scattered, and he was not found.
I lay in the same weary stound,
Therefore, until the night came round.