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Английские легенды / English legends

The Lass of Roch Royal, or, Lord Gregory

A window-shutter clanged high above her, and a rough female voice shouted:

“Lord Gregory is not here and henceforth can’t be seen, as he is gone to bonny Scotland to bring home his new wife. So leave now these windows and likewise this castle, for it is deep in the sea you should hide your downfall. ”

“But who will shoe my baby’s little feet?” the girl moaned, in despair. “Who will put gloves on her hands? Who will put a long linen band around her waist? Who will comb her yellow hair with an ivory comb? Who will be her father till Lord Gregory comes home?”

But there was no answer; the gates remained shut.

“Do you recall, darling Gregory,” the unfortunate lass continued, her voice breaking with sorrow, “that night in Cappoquin, when we exchanged pocket handkerchiefs, and, as for me, it was against my will? Your handkerchief was pure linen, love, and mine just coarse cloth, for yours cost a guinea, and mine but a penny? Do you remember, love Gregory, that night in Cappoquin, when we exchanged rings on our fingers, and me—against my will? For yours was pure silver, and as for mine, it was simple tin, for your ring cost a guinea, and mine but one cent.

But Lord Gregory, I’m standing at your door now, with your child in my hands. Pray, open to me, let me it, let us get warm and merry again by your heat! I beg you to show some mercy at least, if I’m denied your love!”

A few hours later, nevertheless, the storm subsided. Morning came fresh and clean, with the autumn sun shining from behind the light mist. The sea waves looked tamed now; but no sign of the night visitation were there to find.

Soon after waking up, the young Lord Gregory went to tell his mother of the weird dream he saw that night.