From an old Legend
by T. Westwood.
Originally published in Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine (Punch) vol.5 #25 (Jan 1847).
Said the Knight—"Wilt thou broider this scarf to-day,
With thy fair fingers so daintily?
But the Ladye's face was turn'd away—
"I am too busy, I wot!" quoth she.
Then the Knight he left the Ladye's bower,
And his look was troubled and sad to see—
"Dread is the omen and dark the hour,
When love is too busy for love," sighed he.
He mounted his steed with a doleful air,
And he rode away to his own countrie;
He said not "Adieu!" to his Ladye fair,
"She is too busy for that!" quoth he.
So the Ladye sat alone that day,
While the shy grew dark and the foe drew nigh,
And she bade her page ride fast and say—
"Come back, Sir Knight, ere thy Ladye die!"
Low bow'd the page—loud laugh'd the Kunght,
And loud laugh'd all his companie—
"Now bear this message, Sir Page, aright—
I am too busy, I wot!' Quoth he.
The foemen's shafts flew thick and fast,
The Ladye's vassals were fain to flee;
Bat long ere morn the peril was past,
The foeman stricken, the Ladye free.
And a wounded knight was brought to her bower,
Sore wounded even to death was he;
Dread was the omen, and dark the hour,
And the Ladye wept full bitterly.
For she knew the shield, and she knew the crest,
And she knew the pale face, streak'd with gore,
And she knew the scarf that bound his breast—
Whereat she weft yet more and more.
But the knight look'd up with glaring ee,
While a heavy shadow crept over his brow,—
"When love is too busy for love," quoth he,
"Then death is welcome, I trow."