The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
"Yea," quoth Will Scarlet, laughing again, "but this Fountain Abbey is
not so far away as the one of which thou speakest, uncle. The Fountain
Abbey of which I speak is no such rich and proud place as the other, but
a simple little cell; yet, withal, as cosy a spot as ever stout
anchorite dwelled within. I know the place well, and can guide thee
thither, for, though it is a goodly distance, yet methinks a stout pair
of legs could carry a man there and back in one day."
"Then give me thy hand, Allan," cried Robin, "and let me tell thee, I
swear by the bright hair of Saint AElfrida that this time two days hence
Ellen a Dale shall be thy wife. I will seek this same Friar of Fountain
Abbey tomorrow day, and I warrant I will get upon the soft side of him,
even if I have to drub one soft."
At this Will Scarlet laughed again. "Be not too sure of that, good
uncle," quoth he, "nevertheless, from what I know of him, I think this
Curtal Friar will gladly join two such fair lovers, more especially if
there be good eating and drinking afoot thereafter."
But now one of the band came to say that the feast was spread upon the
grass; so, Robin leading the way, the others followed to where the
goodly feast was spread. Merry was the meal. Jest and story passed
freely, and all laughed till the forest rang again. Allan laughed with
the rest, for his cheeks were flushed with the hope that Robin Hood had
given him.
At last the feast was done, and Robin Hood turned to Allan, who sat
beside him. "Now, Allan," quoth he, "so much has been said of thy
singing that we would fain have a taste of thy skill ourselves. Canst
thou not give us something?"
"Surely," answered Allan readily; for he was no third-rate songster that
must be asked again and again, but said "yes" or "no" at the first
bidding; so, taking up his harp, he ran his fingers lightly over the
sweetly sounding strings, and all was hushed about the cloth. Then,
backing his voice with sweet music on his harp, he sang:
MAY ELLEN'S WEDDING
(Giving an account of how she was beloved by a fairy prince,
who took her to his own home.)
"_May Ellen sat beneath a thorn
And in a shower around
The blossoms fell at every breeze
Like snow upon the ground,
And in a lime tree near was heard
The sweet song of a strange, wild bird.
"O sweet, sweet, sweet, O piercing sweet,
O lingering sweet the strain!
May Ellen's heart within her breast
Stood still with blissful pain:
And so, with listening, upturned face,
She sat as dead in that fair place.
"'Come down from out the blossoms, bird!
Come down from out the tree,
And on my heart I'll let thee lie,
And love thee tenderly!'
Thus cried May Ellen, soft and low,
From where the hawthorn shed its snow.
"Down dropped the bird on quivering wing,
From out the blossoming tree,
And nestled in her snowy breast.
'My love! my love!' cried she;
Then straightway home, 'mid sun and flower,
She bare him to her own sweet bower.
"The day hath passed to mellow night,
The moon floats o'er the lea,
And in its solemn, pallid light
A youth stands silently:
A youth of beauty strange and rare,
Within May Ellen's bower there.
"He stood where o'er the pavement cold
The glimmering moonbeams lay.
May Ellen gazed with wide, scared eyes,
Nor could she turn away,
For, as in mystic dreams we see
A spirit, stood he silently.
"All in a low and breathless voice,
'Whence comest thou?' said she;
'Art thou the creature of a dream,
Or a vision that I see?'
Then soft spake he, as night winds shiver
Through straining reeds beside the river.
"'I came, a bird on feathered wing,
From distant Faeryland
Where murmuring waters softly sing
Upon the golden strand,
Where sweet trees are forever green;
And there my mother is the queen.'
. . . . . . .
"No more May Ellen leaves her bower
To grace the blossoms fair;
But in the hushed and midnight hour
They hear her talking there,
Or, when the moon is shining white,
They hear her singing through the night.
"'Oh, don thy silks and jewels fine,'
May Ellen's mother said,
'For hither comes the Lord of Lyne
And thou this lord must wed.'
May Ellen said, 'It may not be.
He ne'er shall find his wife in me.'
"Up spoke her brother, dark and grim:
'Now by the bright blue sky,
E'er yet a day hath gone for him
Thy wicked bird shall die!
For he hath wrought thee bitter harm,
By some strange art or cunning charm.'
"Then, with a sad and mournful song,
Away the bird did fly,
And o'er the castle eaves, and through
The gray and windy sky.
'Come forth!' then cried the brother grim,
'Why dost thou gaze so after him?'
"It is May Ellen's wedding day,
The sky is blue and fair,
And many a lord and lady gay
In church are gathered there.
The bridegroom was Sir Hugh the Bold,
All clad in silk and cloth of gold.
"In came the bride in samite white
With a white wreath on her head;
Her eyes were fixed with a glassy look,
Her face was as the dead,
And when she stood among the throng,
She sang a wild and wondrous song.
"Then came a strange and rushing sound
Like the coming wind doth bring,
And in the open windows shot
Nine swans on whistling wing,
And high above the heads they flew,
In gleaming fight the darkness through.
"Around May Ellen's head they flew
In wide and windy fight,
And three times round the circle drew.
The guests shrank in affright,
And the priest beside the altar there,
Did cross himself with muttered prayer.
"But the third time they flew around,
Fair Ellen straight was gone,
And in her place, upon the ground,
There stood a snow-white swan.
Then, with a wild and lovely song,
It joined the swift and winged throng.
"There's ancient men at weddings been,
For sixty years and more,
But such a wondrous wedding day,
They never saw before.
But none could check and none could stay,
The swans that bore the bride away_."
Not a sound broke the stillness when Allan a Dale had done, but all sat
gazing at the handsome singer, for so sweet was his voice and the music
that each man sat with bated breath, lest one drop more should come and
he should lose it.
"By my faith and my troth," quoth Robin at last, drawing a deep breath,
"lad, thou art--Thou must not leave our company, Allan! Wilt thou not
stay with us here in the sweet green forest? Truly, I do feel my heart
go out toward thee with great love."
Then Allan took Robin's hand and kissed it. "I will stay with thee
always, dear master," said he, "for never have I known such kindness as
thou hast shown me this day."
Then Will Scarlet stretched forth his hand and shook Allan's in token of
fellowship, as did Little John likewise. And thus the famous Allan a
Dale became one of Robin Hood's band.
Robin Hood Seeks the Curtal Friar
THE STOUT YEOMEN of Sherwood Forest were ever early risers of a morn,
more especially when the summertime had come, for then in the freshness
of the dawn the dew was always the brightest, and the song of the small
birds the sweetest.
Quoth Robin, "Now will I go to seek this same Friar of Fountain Abbey of
whom we spake yesternight, and I will take with me four of my good men,
and these four shall be Little John, Will Scarlet, David of Doncaster,
and Arthur a Bland. Bide the rest of you here, and Will Stutely shall
be your chief while I am gone." Then straightway Robin Hood donned a
fine steel coat of chain mail, over which he put on a light jacket of
Lincoln green. Upon his head he clapped a steel cap, and this he covered
by one of soft white leather, in which stood a nodding cock's plume. By
his side he hung a good broadsword of tempered steel, the bluish blade
marked all over with strange figures of dragons, winged women, and what
not. A gallant sight was Robin so arrayed, I wot, the glint of steel
showing here and there as the sunlight caught brightly the links of
polished mail that showed beneath his green coat.
So, having arrayed himself, he and the four yeomen set forth upon their
way, Will Scarlet taking the lead, for he knew better than the others
whither to go. Thus, mile after mile, they strode along, now across a
brawling stream, now along a sunlit road, now adown some sweet forest
path, over which the trees met in green and rustling canopy, and at the
end of which a herd of startled deer dashed away, with rattle of leaves
and crackle of branches. Onward they walked with song and jest and
laughter till noontide was passed, when at last they came to the banks
of a wide, glassy, and lily-padded stream. Here a broad, beaten path
stretched along beside the banks, on which path labored the horses that
tugged at the slow-moving barges, laden with barley meal or what not,
from the countryside to the many-towered town. But now, in the hot
silence of the midday, no horse was seen nor any man besides themselves.
Behind them and before them stretched the river, its placid bosom
ruffled here and there by the purple dusk of a small breeze.
"Now, good uncle," quoth Will Scarlet at last, when they had walked for
a long time beside this sweet, bright river, "just beyond yon bend ahead
of us is a shallow ford which in no place is deeper than thy mid-thigh,
and upon the other side of the stream is a certain little hermitage
hidden amidst the bosky tangle of the thickets wherein dwelleth the
Friar of Fountain Dale. Thither will I lead thee, for I know the way;
albeit it is not overhard to find."
"Nay," quoth jolly Robin, stopping suddenly, "had I thought that I
should have had to wade water, even were it so crystal a stream as this,
I had donned other clothes than I have upon me. But no matter now, for
after all a wetting will not wash the skin away, and what must be, must.
But bide ye here, lads, for I would enjoy this merry adventure alone.
Nevertheless, listen well, and if ye hear me sound upon my bugle horn,
come quickly." So saying, he turned and left them, striding onward
alone.
Robin had walked no farther than where the bend of the road hid his good
men from his view, when he stopped suddenly, for he thought that he
heard voices. He stood still and listened, and presently heard words
passed back and forth betwixt what seemed to be two men, and yet the two
voices were wondrously alike. The sound came from over behind the bank,
that here was steep and high, dropping from the edge of the road a half
a score of feet to the sedgy verge of the river.
"'Tis strange," muttered Robin to himself after a space, when the voices
had ceased their talking, "surely there be two people that spoke the one
to the other, and yet methinks their voices are mightily alike. I make
my vow that never have I heard the like in all my life before. Truly, if
this twain are to be judged by their voices, no two peas were ever more
alike. I will look into this matter." So saying, he came softly to the
river bank and laying him down upon the grass, peered over the edge and
down below.
All was cool and shady beneath the bank. A stout osier grew, not
straight upward, but leaning across the water, shadowing the spot with
its soft foliage. All around grew a mass of feathery ferns such as hide
and nestle in cool places, and up to Robin's nostrils came the tender
odor of the wild thyme, that loves the moist verges of running streams.
Here, with his broad back against the rugged trunk of the willow tree,
and half hidden by the soft ferns around him, sat a stout, brawny
fellow, but no other man was there. His head was as round as a ball, and
covered with a mat of close-clipped, curly black hair that grew low down