Part 16 (1/2)

1914.

THE PROUD LADY

When Stavoren town was in its prime And queened the Zuyder Zee, Her s.h.i.+ps went out to every clime With costly merchantry.

A lady dwelt in that rich town, The fairest in all the land; She walked abroad in a velvet gown, With many rings on her hand.

Her hair was bright as the beaten gold, Her lips as coral red, Her roving eyes were blue and bold, And her heart with pride was fed.

For she was proud of her father's s.h.i.+ps, As she watched them gaily pa.s.s; And pride looked out of her eyes and lips When she saw herself in the gla.s.s.

”Now come,” she said to the captains ten, Who were ready to put to sea, ”Ye are all my men and my father's men, And what will ye do for me?”

”Go north and south, go east and west, And get me gifts,” she said.

”And he who bringeth me home the best, With that man will I wed.”

So they all fared forth, and sought with care In many a famous mart, For satins and silks and jewels rare, To win that lady's heart.

She looked at them all with never a thought, And careless put them by; ”I am not fain of the things ye brought, Enough of these have I.”

The last that came was the head of the fleet, His name was Jan Borel; He bent his knee at the lady's feet,-- In truth he loved her well.

”I've brought thee home the best i' the world, A s.h.i.+pful of Danzig corn!”

She stared at him long; her red lips curled, Her blue eyes filled with scorn.

”Now out on thee, thou f.e.c.kless kerl, A loon thou art,” she said.

”Am I a starving beggar girl?

Shall I ever lack for bread?”

”Go empty all thy sacks of grain Into the nearest sea, And never show thy face again To make a mock of me.”

Young Jan Borel, he answered naught, But in the harbour cast The sacks of golden corn he brought, And groaned when fell the last.

Then Jan Borel, he hoisted sail, And out to sea he bore; He pa.s.sed the Helder in a gale And came again no more.

But the grains of corn went drifting down Like devil-scattered seed, To sow the harbour of the town With a wicked growth of weed.

The roots were thick and the silt and sand Were gathered day by day, Till not a furlong out from land A shoal had barred the way.

Then Stavoren town saw evil years, No s.h.i.+ps could out or in, The boats lay rotting at the piers, And the mouldy grain in the bin.

The gra.s.s-grown streets were all forlorn, The town in ruin stood, The lady's velvet gown was torn, Her rings were sold for food.