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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409655" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;<br>I myself was young!<br>There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid;<br>Fair words gladden so many a heart. <br>Together were they for seven years,<br>And together children six were theirs. <br>Then came Death abroad through the land,<br>And blighted the beautiful lily-wand. <br>Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade,<br>And again hath he wooed him another maid, <br>He hath wooed him a maid and brought home a bride,<br>But she was bitter and full of pride. <br>When she came driving into the yard,<br>There stood the six children weeping so hard. <br>There stood the small children with sorrowful heart;<br>From before her feet she thrust them apart. <br>She gave to them neither ale nor bread;<br>'Ye shall suffer hunger and hate,' she said. <br>She took from them their quilts of blue,<br>And said: 'Ye shall lie on the straw we strew.' <br>She took from them the great waxlight;<br>'Now ye shall lie in the dark at night.' <br>In the evening late they cried with cold;<br>The mother heard it under the mould. <br>The woman heard it the earth below:<br>'To my little children I must go.' <br>She standeth before the Lord of all:<br>'And may I go to my children small?' <br>She prayed him so long, and would not cease,<br>Until he bade her depart in peace. <br>'At cock-crow thou shalt return again;<br>Longer thou shalt not there remain!' <br>She girded up her sorrowful bones,<br>And rifted the walls and the marble stones. <br>As through the village she flitted by,<br>The watch-dogs howled aloud to the sky. <br>When she came to the castle gate,<br>There stood her eldest daughter in wait. <br>'Why standest thou here, dear daughter mine?<br>How fares it with brothers and sisters thine?' <br>'Never art thou mother of mine,<br>For my mother was both fair and fine. <br>'My mother was white, with cheeks of red,<br>But thou art pale, and like to the dead.' <br>'How should I be fair and fine?<br>I have been dead; pale cheeks are mine. <br>'How should I be white and red,<br>So long, so long have I been dead?' <br>When she came in at the chamber door,<br>There stood the small children weeping sore. <br>One she braided, another she brushed,<br>The third she lifted, the fourth she hushed. <br>The fifth she took on her lap and pressed,<br>As if she would suckle it at her breast. <br>Then to her eldest daughter said she,<br>'Do thou bid Svend Dyring come hither to me.' <br>Into the chamber when he came<br>She spake to him in anger and shame. <br>'I left behind me both ale and bread;<br>My children hunger and are not fed. <br>'I left behind me quilts of blue;<br>My children lie on the straw ye strew. <br>'I left behind me the great waxlight;<br>My children lie in the dark at night. <br>'If I come again unto your hall,<br>As cruel a fate shall you befall! <br>'Now crows the cock with feathers red;<br>Back to the earth must all the dead. <br>'Now crows the cock with feathers swart;<br>The gates of heaven fly wide apart. <br>'Now crows the cock with feathers white;<br>I can abide no longer to-night.' <br>Whenever they heard the watch-dogs wail,<br>They gave the children bread and ale. <br>Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bay,<br>They feared lest the dead were on their way. <br>Whenever they heard the watch-dogs bark;<br>I myself was young!<br>They feared the dead out there in the dark.<br>Fair words gladden so many a heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409655" data-title="Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. The Musician's Tale; The Mother's Ghost de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="Svend Dyring he rideth adown the glade;
I myself was young!
There he hath wooed him so winsome a maid;
Fair words gladden so many a heart. 
Together were they for seven years,
And together children six were theirs. 
Then came Death abroad through ..."></div>
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