The Birth of the Ivy.

The Birth of the Ivy.
473.2

Many and many a year ago
(I tell the tale as ’twas told to me).
A lady lived in her own proud hall
A lady of high degree.
And many a knight came wooing her.
For stately and fair was she
The fairest, statellest flower that bloomed
Where the Rhine ran down to the sea.

And one of the knights she loved full well.
And he bowed low at her feet,

“I’ve wooed thee for three long years,” he said,
“Now when wilt thou wed me, sweet?”
But she with a light laugh answered,
“Walt.” “I will wait one year,” said he.
“And then I will come and claim your hand.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.”

Away to the holy wars he hicd.
To fight with the Moslem horde,
And the whole land rang with the praise of him.
And the might of his good sword.
After & twelvemonth back he came.
And again at her feet knelt he.
“Now thou wilt wed me, lady fair.
Where the Rhine rune down to the sea?”

But her pride than her love was stronger still.
And she lifted her haughty head.
“Walt longer. He who patiently waits
In never a loser.” she said.
The knight rose up with a stifled sigh.
But never a prayer prayed he.
And, mounting his steed, he rode away.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.

The lady frowned, and the lady wept.
In her love and wrath and pain.
She had not thought he would thus obey.
And ride from her side again.
Then twice the seasons came and went.
With bird and blossom and bee,
With the summer rose and the winter snows.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.

And then again to his lady’s bower
Strode the knight with a ringing tread.
“Two years I’ve waited patiently.”
Were the only words he said.
But still with a pride that o’ermastered love.
Wait longer answered she.
“If I wait I’ll wait forever.” he said.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.

Then wait forever.” she coldly sald.
And she drew her white hands away,
Bure he would fall at her feet again,
For his lady’s grace to pray.
But never another word he spoke.
And never & sign made he,
As he sprang to his saddle and rode away.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.

How dragged the slow months, one by one
The lady, in sore distress.
Went night and day in her lonely bower.
Bewalling her naughtiness.
One morning she summoned her trusty page.
“Speed over the hills,” said she.
“Tell my lover I say come back to me.
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.”

But the knight caine not, nor sent he word.
Save this one short mesage. “Wait.”
And the sun rose up, and the sun went down,
And the flowers died, soon or late.
At length she summoned her page again.
And again to him said she:
“Go tell my knight that I wait for him
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.”

The page came back, and he deffed his hat.
But this was the word he bore:
“He lowes nothing who patiently waits.”
And not one syllable more.
“He remembers well,” the lady cried.
And in wan despair lived she.
Two more long, desolate years alone,
Where the Rhine runs down to the sea.

“Now go to my lord once more,” she prayed.
“And tell him my death is near.
Tell him I wait bis face to see,
That I wait his voice to hear.”
The pare came back with a lagging pace,
“Oh, what does he say? cried she.
“Dear lads, he tells you to walt for aye.
Where the Rhine rung down to the sea.”