MARGARET'S BRIDAL EVE

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:

There is a rose that's ready;

And which of the handsome young men shall it be?

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:

There is a rose that's ready;

Come, point me your finger on him that you see:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:

There is a rose that's ready;

For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:

There is a rose that's ready;

And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Tall Margaret wept bitterly:

There is a rose that's ready;

And as her parent bade did she:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:

There is a rose that's ready;

Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:

There is a rose in the garden;

Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:

And the bird sings over the roses.

Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:

There is a rose in the garden;

You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when he kisses me!

There is a rose in the garden;

My child,‘ tis which shall sweetest be!

And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when I awake in the morn!

There is a rose in the garden;

My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:

And the bird sings over the roses.

Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:

There is a rose in the garden;

Poor comfort she had of her comeliness

And the bird sings over the roses.

My mother will sink if this thing be said:

There is a rose in the garden;

That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;

And the bird sings over the roses.

He died on my shoulder the third cold night:

There is a rose in the garden;

I dragged his body all through the moonlight:

And the bird sings over the roses.

But when I came by my father's door:

There is a rose in the garden;

I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:

There is a rose in the garden;

Could I follow the lover I loved so well!

And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:

There is a rose that's ready;

Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:

There is a rose that's ready;

Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:

There is a rose that's ready;

Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O few are the brides with such a sign!

There is a rose that's ready;

Though I went mad the fault was mine:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I must speak to him under this roof to-night:

There is a rose that's ready;

I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:

There is a rose that's ready;

Than when I scored you red and swooned:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

I will stab my honour under his eye:

There is a rose that's ready;

Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!

There is a rose that's ready;

Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:

There is a rose that's ready;

You carry no mark of what has been!

There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

An hour before the chilly beam:

Red rose and white in the garden;

The bridegroom started out of a dream:

And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and there espied:

Red rose and white in the garden;

The figure of his silent bride:

And the bird sings over the roses.

He went to the door, and let her in:

Red rose and white in the garden;

Whiter looked she than a child of sin:

And the bird sings over the roses.

She looked so white, she looked so sweet:

Red rose and white in the garden;

She looked so pure he fell at her feet:

And the bird sings over the roses.

He fell at her feet with love and awe:

Red rose and white in the garden;

A stainless body of light he saw:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!

Red rose and white in the garden;

My bride! by the angels at night are you led?

And the bird sings over the roses.

I am not led by the angels about:

Red rose and white in the garden;

But I have a devil within to let out:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O Margaret! my bride and saint!

Red rose and white in the garden;

There is on you no earthly taint:

And the bird sings over the roses.

I am no saint, and no bride can I be:

Red rose and while in the garden;

Until I have opened my bosom to thee:

And the bird sings over the roses.

To catch at her heart she laid one hand:

Red rose and white in the garden;

She told the tale where she did stand:

And the bird sings over the roses.

She stood before him pale and tall:

Red rose and white in the garden;

Her eyes between his, she told him all:

And the bird sings over the roses.

She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:

Red rose and white in the garden;

She heard from the woods the hooting owl:

And the bird sings over the roses.

With never a quiver her mouth did speak:

Red rose and white in the garden;

O when she had done she stood so meek!

And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:

Red rose and white in the garden;

He did but waken a little smile:

And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom raged and called her foul:

Red rose and white in the garden;

She heard from the woods the hooting owl:

And the bird sings over the roses.

He muttered a name full bitter and sore:

Red rose and white in the garden;

She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:

Red rose and white in the garden;

When through the household flew the tale:

And the bird sings over the roses.

The old grey mother she dressed the bier:

Red rose and white in the garden;

With a shivering chin and never a tear:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you but done as I bade you, my child!

Red rose and white in the garden;

You would not have died and been reviled:

And the bird sings over the roses.

The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:

Red rose and white in the garden;

He eyed the white girl thro’ a dazzling tear:

And the bird sings over the roses.

O had you been false as the women who stray:

Red rose and white in the garden;

You would not be now with the Angels of Day!

And the bird sings over the roses.