Chapter XXXII
"A baron's chylde to be begylde!
it were a cursed dede:
To be fel?we with an outl?we!
Almighty God forbede!
Yea, better were, the pore squy
re alone to forest yede,
Then ye sholde say another day,
that by my cursed dede
Ye were betrayed:
wherefore, good mayde,
the best rede that I can,
Is, that I to the grene wode go, alone,
a banyshed man."
Thomas Percy, 'Nutbrowne Mayde,' 11. 265-76 from Reliques of
Ancient English Poetry, Vol. II.
The day that followed proved to be melancholy, though one of much
activity. The soldiers, who had so lately been employed in interring
their victims, were now called on to bury their own dead. The scene
of the morning had left a saddened feeling on all the gentlemen of
the party, and the rest felt the influence of a similar sensation,
in a variety of ways and from many causes. Hour dragged on after
hour until evening arrived, and then came the last melancholy offices
in honor of poor Hetty Hutter. Her body was laid in the lake, by
the side of that of the mother she had so loved and reverenced,
the surgeon, though actually an unbeliever, so far complying with
the received decencies of life as to read the funeral service
over her grave, as he had previously done over those of the other
Christian slain.
Pages:
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919