The Outcast Lady.
The Lady sate at the castle gate,1
Her face was wan and wild,2
And “ Oh,” she said, “ that I were dead,3
But for ye, my bonnie wee child.”4
The night grew late, still there she sate,5
Biding the winter storm ;6
The morning came, and still the same,7
Sate there the muffled form.8
With stately show, but sad and slow,9
They threw the portals wide,10
And a little bier was drawing near,11
Borne with a mournful pride.12
“ Why sit ye there ?” cried they who bare,13
“ This is nae place for you,14
Gae seek a name to hide your shame,15
And make nae mair ado.”16
She spake nae word, she never stirred,17
They plucked her cloak away—18
From her face so wan, was the wildness gone,19
And there Death softly lay.20