The Bridal bed

THE

Bridal Bed,

AN

OLD BALLAD.

GLASGOW:

Published, and Sold Wholesale and Retail, by
R. Hutchison & Co. 10, Saltmarket.—1817.

THE BRIDAL BED.

It was a maid of low degree
⁠sat on her true love's grave,
And with her tears most piteously
⁠the green turf she did lave;
She strew'd the flower, she pluck'd the weed,
⁠and show'rs of tears she shed;
Sweet turf, she cried, by fate decreed
⁠to be my bridal bed.

I've set thee, flower, for that the flower
⁠of manhood lieth here;
And water'd thee with plenteous shower
⁠of many a briny tear.
And still she cried, Oh stay my love,
⁠my true love, stay for me:
Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

I pluck'd thee, weed, for that no weed
⁠did in his bosom grow;
But sweetest flowers, from virtue's seed,
⁠did there spontaneous blow:
But ah! their beautecus tints no more
⁠Their balmy fragrance shed;
And I must strew this meaner flow'r,
⁠To deck my bridal bed.

Sweet turf, thy green more green appears,
⁠Tears make thy verdure grow;
Then still I'll water three with my tears;
⁠That thus profusely flow.
Oh stay for me, departed youth,
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

This is the flow'ry wreath he wove,
⁠to deck his bride, dear youth!
And this the ring with which my love
⁠to me did plight his troth;
And this dear ring I was to keep,
⁠and with it to be wed———
But here, alas! I sigh and weep
⁠to deck my bridal bed.

A blythsome knight came riding by,
⁠and, as the bright moon shone,
He saw her on the green turf lie
⁠and heard her piteous moan;
For loud she cried, O stay, my love,
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

O say, he cry'd, fair maiden, say,
⁠what cause doth work thy woe,
That on a cold grave thou dost lay,
⁠And fast thy tears o'erflow?'
Oh! I have cause to weep for woe,
⁠For my true love is dead;
And thus, while fast my tears o'erflow,
⁠I deck my bridal bed.

Be calm, fair maid, the knight replied,
⁠thou art too young to die;
But go with me, and be my bride,
⁠and leave the old to sigh.
But still she cried, Oh ⟨stay⟩ my love,
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deck'd my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

Oh leave, he cry'd, this grief so cold,
⁠and leave this dread despair,
And thou shalt flaunt in robes of gold,
⁠a lady rich and fair.
Thou shalt have halls and castles fair,
⁠and when, sweet maid, we wed,
Oh thou shalt have much costly gear,
⁠to deck thy bridal bed.

Oh hold thy peace, thou cruel knight,
⁠nor urge me to despair;
With thee my troth I will not plight,
⁠⟨for all⟩ thy proffers fair:
But I will die with my own true love—
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

Thy halls and castles I despise,
⁠this turf is all I crave:
For all my hopes and all my joys,
⁠lie buried in this grave:
I want no gold, no costly gear,
⁠now my true love is dead;
But with fading flower and scalding tear
⁠I deck my bridal bed.

⟨Oh!⟩ be my bride, thou weeping fair,
⁠oh! be my bride, I pray;
And I will build a tomb most rare,
⁠where thy true love shall lay:
But still in tears she cry'd, My love,
⁠my true love stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

My love needs not a tomb so rare,
⁠in a green grave we will lie;
Our carved works—these flowerets fair,
⁠Our canopy be sky.
Now go, Sir knight, now go thy ways,
⁠full soon I shall be dead;
And then return in some few days,
⁠and deck my bridal bed.

And strew the flower, and pluck the thorn,
⁠and cleanse the turf I pray,
So may some hand thy turf adorn,
⁠when thou in grave shalt lay.
But stay, oh thou whom dear I love,
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

No, maid, I will not go my ways;
⁠nor leave thee here alone;
Nor, while despair upon thee preys,
⁠neglect thy woeful moan;
But I will stay and share thy woe,
⁠my tears with thine I'll shed;
And help thee pluck the flower, to strew
⁠o'er thy sad bridal bed.

Now from the church came forth the priest,
⁠his midnight chaunt was done,
And much the hapless maid he prest
⁠to cease her piteous moan;
For still she cry'd, O stay my love,
⁠my true love stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

O! kneel with me, he cried, dear maid,
⁠oh kneel in holy prayer;
Haply kind heaven may send thee aid,
⁠and soothe thy dread despair.
I blame not heaven, the maid replied,
⁠but mourn my true love dead;
And on his green grave I will 'bide,
⁠for 'tis my bridal bed.

The hapless maid knelt down, for fear
⁠that holy priest should blame;
But still, with every hallow'd prayer,
⁠she sigh'd her true loves name.
And softly cried, Oh stay my love,
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

Enough, enough, thou sore-tried dear!
⁠the weeping knight exclaim'd;
Enough I've tried thee, matchless fair,
⁠and be the trial blam'd:
I am thy love, thy own true love,
⁠and I am come to wed;
Nor shall this turf thy green grave prove,
⁠nor be thy bridal bed.

I am a knight of noble name,
⁠and thou of low degree;
So, like a shepherd poor I came,
⁠to prove thy constancy.
But still, with woe forlorn, she cried
⁠my true love, stay for me;
Stay till I've deckt my bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

Again, enough, thou sore-tried maid!
⁠the knight in tears exclaim'd;
See at thy feet thy true love laid,
⁠of all his guile asham'd.
Forgive me maid—my love now prove,
⁠and let us instant wed.
And thou with tears of joy, my love,
⁠shall deck thy bridal bed!

And art thou him?—exclaim'd the maid,
⁠and dost thou live?—she cried:
Too cruel love!—she faintly said—
⁠then wrung his hand, and died.
Stay, cried the knight, all woe begone,
⁠now, stay, my love, for me;
Stay, till I've deckt our bridal bed,
⁠and I will follow thee.

In vain the priest, with holy lore,
⁠by turns did soothe and chide;
The knight, distracted, wept full sore,
⁠and on the green turf died.
And underneath (may heaven them save!)
⁠the lovers both were laid,
And thus in truth, the green turf grave
⁠became their bridal bed.

FINIS.