Chapter 46

GERTRUDE _lying on a couch_; LILIA _seated beside her, with the girl's hand in both hers_.

_Lady Gertrude_. How kind of you to come! And you will stay And be my beautiful nurse till I grow well? I am better since you came. You look so sweet, It brings all summer back into my heart.

_Lilia_. I am very glad to come. Indeed, I felt No one could nurse you quite so well as I.

_Lady Gertrude_. How kind of you! Do call me sweet names now; And put your white cool hands upon my head; And let me lie and look in your great eyes: 'Twill do me good; your very eyes are healing.

_Lilia_. I must not let you talk too much, dear child.

_Lady Gertrude_. Well, as I cannot have my music-lesson, And must not speak much, will you sing to me? Sing that strange ballad you sang once before; 'Twill keep me quiet.

_Lilia_. What was it, child?

_Lady Gertrude_. It was Something about a race--Death and a lady--

_Lilia_. Oh! I remember. I would rather sing Some other, though.

_Lady Gertrude_. No, no, I want that one. Its ghost walks up and down inside my head, But won't stand long enough to show itself. You must talk Latin to it--sing it away, Or when I'm ill, 'twill haunt me.

_Lilia_. Well, I'll sing it.

SONG.

Death and a lady rode in the wind, In a starry midnight pale; Death on a bony horse behind, With no footfall upon the gale.

The lady sat a wild-eyed steed; Eastward he tore to the morn. But ever the sense of a noiseless speed, And the sound of reaping corn!

All the night through, the headlong race Sped to the morning gray; The dew gleamed cold on her cold white face-- From Death or the morning? say.

Her steed's wide knees began to shake, As he flung the road behind; The lady sat still, but her heart did quake, And a cold breath came down the wind.

When, Lo! a fleet bay horse beside, With a silver mane and tail; A knight, bareheaded, the horse did ride, With never a coat of mail.

He never lifted his hand to Death, And he never couched a spear; But the lady felt another breath, And a voice was in her ear.

He looked her weary eyes through and through, With his eyes so strong in faith: Her bridle-hand the lady drew, And she turned and laughed at Death.

And away through the mist of the morning gray, The spectre and horse rode wide; The dawn came up the old bright way, And the lady never died.

_Lord Seaford_ (_who has entered during the song_). Delightful! Why, my little pining Gertrude, With such charm-music you will soon be well. Madam, I know not how to speak the thanks I owe you for your kindness to my daughter: She looks as different from yesterday As sunrise from a fog.

_Lilia_. I am but too happy To be of use to one I love so much.