by Gabriel Rossetti the Younger.

written when he was 15.

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• “O whither awaye, myne own true love?
• O whither awaye sae soon?
• The rayne will splash thy 'broiderie,
• And soak thy gilded shoon.”

• “I heedna the wynde, and I heedna the hayle,
• And I heedna the storme, Marie; —
• Before an hour hath passed awaye,
• In my own halle mote I be.”

• “But the lightning will startle thy berrie-browne
• steed,
• 10And he will snort and shy, —
• And long ere thou mayest reach thy halle
• On the cauld earth shalt thou lie.”

• “Thou knowst not my berrie-browne steed, Marie,
• Nor the dangers we have passed;
• He would bear one free through the raging sea
• Like an arrowe before the blast.

• “But tell me true, my onlie love,
• And truelie tell to me;
• And why dost thou praye that I thys daye
• 20In thy bowere so long should be?”

• She put her arms about his necke,
• And he felt her heart beate highe;
• And she hid her face within his breaste
• As she spoke righte dolefullie.

• “O there is a knight of the north countrie; —
• Sir Richard is his name;
• And long years syne, ere my mother died,
• A wooing to me he came:

• “And he standes below in the castle-halle,
• 30And his sworde is in his hande;
• And when you have passed the corridor
• He will slaye you where you stande.

• “Then staye with me, my dearest love,
• And hearken to my prayer;
• Or I'll not see thy face again,
• Nor hear thy voice nae mair.”

• Lord William turned him round about,
• And grasped his trustie brande;
page: [3]  
• “And I'll not yield a foot,”quoth he,
• 40“While the hilte holds in my hande.”

• And she heard the trampling of hurried feete
• And the sound of men in strife;
• And she knelt her down on the stonie floore,
• And prayed for Willie's lyfe.

• At last there rose a loud, loud shriek,
• And it woke the echoes neare:
• The ladie started to her feete
• And quaked for verie feare.

• And she ranne fulle quicklie down the stairs,
• 50And she oped the iron doore, —
• And she was awayre of her lover's corpse
• Laye weltering in his gore.

• And o'er him stood that recreant knight
• As he wiped his bloodie sword:
• The ladie threw her on her knees
• And kissed her fallen lord.

• “Assasin! on thy guiltie head
• May Heaven's vengeance falle;
• For thou hast slayne my onlie friende,
• 60My life, my soul, my alle.

• “O he was gentler than the lambe,
• And milder than the dove:
• God knows he was the onlie manne
• That ever I did love.

• “And now pure angels beare his soulle
• To brighter realmes on highe,
• But thou shalt dwelle with fiendes belowe
• In endlesse miserie.”

• He took her up into his arms,
• 70And his lookes were blacke as deathe,
• And he dashed her downe from the win-
• -dowe highe
• To the moate which rolled beneath.

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• The wind was moaning through the trees,—
• It whistled and it sang;
• And the crash of heaven's artillery
• Though the echoing welkin rang.

• The lightning flashed across the waste
• With a wild and ghastly glare,
• And it mingled in its fitful gleams
• 80With the hot and sulphurous air:

• And it danced on high, and it skimmed along
• O'er the parched and blasted heath,
• And the flowers withered where it passed
• Beneath its fiery breath.

• Sir Richard dashed across the plain,—
• His spurs were red with gore;
• And he thought that spectres followed him,
• Above — behind — before.

• He heard their wailings on the wind,
• 90Their shrieks upon the blast: —
• What would he not have given to know
• That dreary heath was past!

• But brighter flashed the levin-glare,
• And deeper rolled the thunder,
• And shrubs were strewn along the ground,
• And oaks were riven asunder.

• And the lightning glanced on the mur-
• -derer's face
• And showed its livid hue,
• As faster o'er the lonesome waste
• 100In mortal fear he flew.

• And it glimmered on his crested helm,
• And dashed him from his horse,
• And stretched him writhing on the earth,
• A burnt and blackened corse.

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    50 Charlotte St. Portland Pl.

I am, Sir,

Yours

Gabriel Rossetti