Out of the church she followed them With a lofty step and mien:His bride was like a village maid, Maude Clare was like a queen.
'Son Thomas,' his lady mother said, With smiles, almost with tears:'May Nell and you but live as true As we have done for years;
'Your father thirty years ago Had just your tale to tell;But he was not so pale as you, Nor I so pale as Nell.'
My lord was pale with inward strife, And Nell was pale with pride;My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare Or ever he kissed the bride.
'Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord, Have brought my gift,' she said:'To bless the hearth, to bless the board, To bless the marriage-bed.
'Here's my half of the golden chain You wore about your neck,That day we waded ankle-deep For lilies in the beck:
'Here's my half of the faded leaves We plucked from budding bough,With feet amongst the lily leaves,-- The lilies are budding now.'
He strove to match her scorn with scorn, He faltered in his place:'Lady,' he said,—'Maude Clare,' he said,-- 'Maude Clare:'—and hid his face.
She turn'd to Nell: 'My Lady Nell, I have a gift for you;Though, were it fruit, the bloom were gone, Or, were it flowers, the dew.
'Take my share of a fickle heart, Mine of a paltry love:Take it or leave it as you will, I wash my hands thereof.'
'And what you leave,' said Nell, 'I'll take, And what you spurn, I'll wear;For he's my lord for better and worse, And him I love, Maude Clare.
'Yea, though you're taller by the head, More wise, and much more fair;I'll love him till he loves me best, Me best of all, Maude Clare.'