DROODIANA - Thomas Haynes Bayly: A Ballad "The Mistletoe Bough"

Thomas Haynes Bayly: A Ballad "The Mistletoe Bough"

‘I am sure you will agree with me, Ma,’ said Mr. Crisparkle, after thinking the matter over, ‘that the first thing to be done, is, to put these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing disinterested in the notion, because we cannot be at our ease with them unless they are at their ease with us. Now, Jasper’s nephew is down here at present; and like takes to like, and youth takes to youth. He is a cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister at dinner. That’s three. We can’t think of asking him, without asking Jasper. That’s four. Add Miss Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to be, and that’s six. Add our two selves, and that’s eight. Would eight at a friendly dinner at all put you out, Ma?’

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,

The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;

And the baron's retainers were blithe and gay,

And keeping their Christmas holiday.

The baron beheld with a father's pride

His beautiful child, young Lovell's bride;

While she with her bright eyes seemed to be

The star of the goodly company.

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

"I'm weary of dancing now," she cried;

"Here, tarry a moment — I'll hide, I'll hide!

And, Lovell, be sure thou'rt first to trace

The clew to my secret lurking-place."

Away she ran — and her friends began

Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;

And young Lovell cried, "O, where dost thou hide?

I'm lonesome without thee, my own dear bride."

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,

And they sought her in vain while a week passed away;

In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,

Young Lovell sought wildly — but found her not.

And years flew by, and their grief at last

Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;

And when Lovell appeared the children cried,

"See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride."

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid,

Was found in the castle — they raised the lid,

And a skeleton form lay mouldering there

In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!

O, sad was her fate! — in sportive jest

She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.

It closed with a spring! — and, dreadful doom,

The bride lay clasped in her living tomb!

Oh, the mistletoe bough.

1822

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