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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519714" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Noble Moringer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,<br>It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;<br>He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May,<br>And said, 'Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>''Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine,<br>And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's mine;<br>Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay,<br>That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer,<br>'Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here:<br>And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway,<br>And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>Out spoke the noble Moringer, 'Of that have thou no care,<br>There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair;<br>The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my state,<br>And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>'As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight,<br>When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight;<br>And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now,<br>But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune,<br>And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown:<br>He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furr'd with miniver,<br>He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>'Now hear,' he said, 'Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine,<br>And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine,<br>For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train,<br>And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he,<br>'Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me;<br>That woman's faith's a brittle trust - Seven twelve-months didst thou say?<br>I'll pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX. <br>The noble Baron turn'd him round, his heart was full of care,<br>His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir,<br>To whom he spoke right anxiously, 'Thou trusty squire to me,<br>Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>'To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land,<br>And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band;<br>And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till seven long years are gone,<br>And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young,<br>And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue;<br>'My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend,<br>And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>'Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried,<br>To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride;<br>And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear,<br>I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak,<br>And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek;<br>A long adieu he bids to all - hoists topsails, and away,<br>And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelve-months and a day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept,<br>When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept;<br>And whisper'd in his ear a voice, ''Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake,<br>Thy lady and thy heritage another master take.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>'Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein,<br>And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train;<br>And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair,<br>This night within thy fathers' hall she weds Marstetten's heir.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.<br>It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard,<br>'Oh would that I had ne'er been born! what tidings have I heard!<br>To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care,<br>But, God! that e'er a squire untrue should wed my Lady fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>'O good Saint Thomas, hear,' he pray'd, 'my patron Saint art thou,<br>A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow!<br>My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name,<br>And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer,<br>And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd his care;<br>He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch'd beside a rill,<br>High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX.<br>The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound,<br>And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around;<br>'I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know,<br>Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX.<br>He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew,<br>So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master knew;<br>The Baron to the miller said, 'Good friend, for charity,<br>Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI.<br>The miller answered him again, 'He knew of little news,<br>Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose;<br>Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word,<br>His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII.<br>'Of him I held the little mill which wins we living free,<br>God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me!<br>And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll,<br>The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII.<br>It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began,<br>And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man;<br>'Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take,<br>To gain the entrance of my hall this woeful match to break.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV.<br>His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow,<br>For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe;<br>And to the warder thus he spoke; 'Friend, to thy Lady say,<br>A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV.<br>'I've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is wellnigh done,<br>And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sun;<br>I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole,<br>And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-beloved husband's soul.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI.<br>It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before,<br>'A pilgrim, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the castle-door;<br>And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbour and for dole,<br>And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII.<br>The Lady's gentle heart was moved, 'Do up the gate,' she said,<br>'And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed;<br>And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay,<br>These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a day.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII.<br>It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad,<br>It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode;<br>'And have thou thanks, kind heaven,' he said, 'though from a man of sin,<br>That the true lord stands here once more his castle gate within.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX.<br>Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow;<br>It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord to know;<br>He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe and wrong,<br>Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX.<br>Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour,<br>The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower;<br>'Our castle's wont,' a brides-man said, 'hath been both firm and long,<br>No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a song.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI.<br>Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride,<br>'My merry minstrel folk,' quoth he, 'lay shalm and harp aside;<br>Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold,<br>And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII.<br>'Chill flows the lay of frozen age,' 'twas thus the pilgrim sung,<br>'Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue;<br>Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine,<br>And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII.<br>'But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-hair'd,<br>For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard;<br>One rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage,<br>And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIV.<br>It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears,<br>And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears;<br>She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take,<br>And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXV.<br>It was the noble Moringer that dropp'd amid the wine<br>A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine:<br>Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth,<br>'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVI.<br>Then to the cupbearer he said, 'Do me one kindly deed,<br>And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed;<br>Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay,<br>And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer grey.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVII.<br>The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied,<br>The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride;<br>'Lady,' he said, 'your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray,<br>That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer grey.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVIII.<br>The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near,<br>Then might you hear her shriek aloud, 'The Moringer is here!'<br>Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell,<br>But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIX.<br>But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every saintly power,<br>That had return'd the Moringer before the midnight hour;<br>And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride,<br>That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XL.<br>'Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, 'to constant matrons due,<br>Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly and true;<br>For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright,<br>Seven twelve-months and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLI.<br>It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew,<br>He kneel'd before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw;<br>'My oath and knightly faith are broke,' these were the words he said,<br>'Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLII.<br>The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say,<br>'He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelve-months and a day;<br>My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair,<br>I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIII.<br>'The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old,<br>Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told;<br>But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate,<br>For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</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=519714" data-title="The Noble Moringer de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="I.
O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day,
It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay;
He halsed and kiss'd his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May,
And said, 'Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say.

II.
''Tis I have ..."></div>
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