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 Dalinar, Daughter of the Mill, is shi 
 H'as e'er a maid so fair? 
 
£50: 
 
 DALMAR 
 
 Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Slg (Eljarlpa W, CHutto 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 ^DC^ 
 
 DENVER. COLORADO 
 
 THE REED PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 1905 
 

 LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 
 Two CoDies Received 
 
 JAN 5 1906' 
 
 Cocyriirnt Entry 
 CLASS a^ XXC. No. 
 
 . 7 "^ / 3 
 
 COPY 8. 
 
 Copyright. 1905 
 By CHARLES W. CUNO 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 The Reed Publishing Co. 
 
 DCN VK R 
 
Let your word be criticism, not comment; 
 
 seek out merit and praise it, 
 
 but be not too sparing 
 
 of condemnation, 
 
 for, inasmuch as you 
 
 have been just, 
 
 call me your 
 
 friend. 
 
Dalmar 
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE MILL 
 
DALMAR 
 
 Daughter of the M; 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 [here fields of growing wheat 
 The babbling brook's sides meet, 
 Amid the gentle, swaying trees, 
 Where bending bough, with pinon leaves. 
 Doth mark the fancy of the breeze 
 By splashes in the laughing stream; 
 Where moss and grassy carpet seem 
 To spread green tapestries, a bed 
 For violets blue and roses red 
 That wild 'mid Nature's vistas grow; 
 
 Where twitt'ring song and warbling low 
 
 Doth tell the song-bird's hidden nest; 
 
 Where butterflies sail to and fro; 
 
 The flower cups, in lazy quest 
 
 Of sweets they rob; and lying low 
 
 Around the lazy millsite lake. 
 
 The handsome lilies silent take 
 
 Their queenly rest, just out of reach; 
 
 Where almost in the mill-race breach 
 
 There grows the saucy daffodil, — 
 There stands a mill. 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Green ivies grace the rambling sides, 
 
 That seem as though some fairy sprites, 
 
 In caprice of their happy life. 
 
 Did build, 'mid song and laughter rife. 
 
 This rustic mill, 'twould seem, as they 
 
 Did fashion thus of yellow clay, 
 
 And then did pelt with cobbles round, — 
 
 In changing mood,— that strewed the ground. 
 
 Till morning's sun that 'chased them 'way 
 
 Exposed thus strangely to the day, 
 
 All plastered 'round with cobbles gray. 
 
 Its mimic grandeur's mock array; 
 
 In outline small, the turret tall, 
 
 E'en lattice, parapet and all, 
 
 In miniature, the rustic wall 
 
 Of mediaeval castle grand. 
 
 And e'en the setting of the land 
 
 Would lend to fancy's end its faint 
 
 Enchantment to this scene so quaint. 
 
 Did not the millwheel, iron bound. 
 
 In creaking song, thus 'round and 'round, 
 
 Betray the magic Elfin skill. 
 
 The castle turns but to a mill. 
 
 Above the millwheel's creaking noise 
 There comes the music of a voice. 
 The miller gay doth sing all day 
 His mill-song's merry roundelay. 
 The throbbing of the mill-stone's grind 
 Now goes before, now lags behind. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The shimm'ring millwheel's splashing beat 
 In measured cadence oft repeat, 
 Doth frequent seem as though it fain 
 Would mock the miller's glad refrain; 
 Again to drown the happy sound 
 With grinding rattle, 'round and 'round; 
 And then to chime in with the rhyme 
 And beat the cadence of the time. 
 But ne'er the miller heeds the noise. 
 Now low his note, now high his voice ; 
 Now dies his lay in caprice 'way. 
 Now soft, now loud, in tenor key. 
 And ever thus, the whole day long, 
 'Tis this, the burden of his song: 
 
 "Hola! A miller born am I, 
 
 And e'er a miller will I be. 
 
 For riches have I yet to sigh, 
 
 Or yet the rich man's luxury. 
 
 I toil all day and toil for aye; 
 
 At evening's close I take my rest. 
 
 I have no care ; my simple fare 
 
 Is all my fancy doth request. 
 
 When morning's sun doth light the skies. 
 
 It beckons me to toil arise. 
 
 But evening's soft and mellow light 
 
 Doth find me at my fireside; 
 
 And ne'er a care doth there abide. 
 
 My toil has left me, for at night 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 I am a king. And when its race 
 
 The millwheel ends, and when their pace, 
 
 Their madd'ning pace, the mill-stones cease, 
 
 I dream my dreams in silent peace. 
 
 My mill doth turn by fairy hand 
 
 To turret, wall and castle grand. 
 
 And in my arm-chaired throne-stool place, 
 
 Just by the cheery fire's space, 
 
 I rule, forsooth, with iron hand. 
 
 I muster 'round a millsack band 
 
 Of vassals from the mill without 
 
 And cry, 'What ho ! thou minion, Clout ! 
 
 Come, Clout ! and do my bidding ! .Here ! 
 
 Bring forth the wassail cheer !' 
 
 My daughter takes the queenly place. 
 
 With princess airs, her pretty face 
 
 Doth grace the evening festive board ; 
 
 And from without, the white-faced horde 
 
 Doth seem to crowd the open door 
 
 As though in homage to their lord. 
 
 "Then drink, lads, to the castle mill. 
 When night is here and all is still. 
 Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
 My realm ! For 't night I am a king!" 
 
 And stranger still, this man, this mill. 
 This mixture quaint, this miller king, 
 This man content, though good or ill 
 The cycles of the morrows bring. 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 This miller whose eccentric mien 
 
 Fain fits the magic of the scene, 
 
 Doth add another queerness still 
 
 To mark the quaintness of the mill. 
 
 Tis this, his pastime of the night. 
 
 The miller's joy, his great delight. 
 
 To gather from the nearby inn 
 
 His cronies three, and safe within 
 
 The shelter of his castle mill 
 
 To move with patient, silent skill, 
 
 The chessmen o'er the checkered plane, 
 
 Thus each with each, with each again. 
 
 'Mid scowl and frown and solemn way 
 
 And measured move, they silent play 
 
 The cycle of the patient game 
 
 Till midnight strikes the new 'day's name. 
 
 Then what the cost, if won or lost? 
 'Tis all the playing of the game. 
 The miller, at this hour's sign, 
 Doth bring from cellar of his wine 
 And pours to each his portion fair; 
 Then all, their glasses high in air. 
 Await the signal of their host, 
 As speaks he thus his merry toast : — 
 
 "Then drink, lads, to the castle mill, 
 When night is here and all is still. 
 Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
 My realm ! For 't night I am a king !" 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 And oft, when evening's sun doth paint 
 The West with crimson tints that faint 
 Around each scrolled cloud doth seem 
 To weave the sunlight's haloed sheen, 
 There comes, forsooth, a sweeter lay. 
 And frequent from the turret gray. 
 Whence window blinds and dainty lace. 
 That truer to its castle grace. 
 Fain tells a home, a gentler skill. 
 And marks the dwelling 'midst the mill, 
 A maid doth gaze upon the scene. 
 Or from the door in happy mien 
 Doth watch, with bare head, careless grace, 
 The gurgling millwheel's happy race. 
 And oft she tends the rambling rose. 
 That 'lone, its gnarle'd thorn-stem close 
 Against the latticed window holds. 
 Quaint lattice that the sunlight golds. 
 Each crimson rosebud doth she watch 
 With tender care, as if to catch 
 Each breath that wafts unto the mill 
 Its essence o'er the lattice sill. 
 
 Dalmar, daughter of the mill, is she. 
 
 Was e'er a maid so fair? 
 Search the world o'er as you will, as she, — 
 
 So sweet, so kind, you ne'er 
 Can find again. So fair, that when 
 The winds caress her nut-brown hair, 
 That waves and curls as if to dare 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The gentle zephyr's blowing, and 
 
 The sunlight turns, with magic hand, 
 
 The lighter strands to flowing gold, 
 
 That, gleaming, gleaming, on the bold 
 
 Wind streaming, seem a network wire, 
 
 A diadem of golden fire; 
 
 And 'neath this mass, a wealth of grace, 
 
 So pure, so kind, so sweet a face, — 
 
 Is't wonder that her figure fills 
 
 The heart with fervent passion's thrills? 
 
 Brow like the rosebud's dreamy whiteness. 
 
 Soft as the faintest dawn; 
 Framed by the golden, curly brightness. 
 
 Smooth o'er the eyebrows brown. 
 Cheek, in the heartblood's surging lightness, 
 
 Full with its changing grace ; 
 Lips of that faint carnation redness 
 
 Lent to an innocent face. 
 From out whose eyes, whose blueness vies 
 Celestial splendors of the skies, 
 There peeps a soul, so pure, so true, 
 A gem that makes this liquid blue 
 Its favorite abiding place ; 
 And frequent lights this pretty face, 
 As if from Northland in its flight. 
 Did steal forever for these eyes, — 
 Quintessence of Aurora's light, — 
 The brilliant flashfire of the skies. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 One day, as sun is sinking low, 
 
 And down the road, thus driving slow, 
 
 A lad with yoke of oxen takes 
 
 His way and, shouting careless, makes 
 
 The echoes answer to his "Gee" and *'Whoa!" 
 
 And leaning on the handle of his hoe. 
 
 Out in the wheat-field near at hand. 
 
 The lazy peasant wipes his brow ; 
 
 And by the roadside, in the sand, 
 
 A chubby urchin, scanty clad. 
 
 Doth build a sandhill castle grand. 
 
 And, laughing, mocks the barefoot lad. 
 
 There comes at once a different sound. 
 
 As clatt'ring hoofs beat on the ground; 
 
 And from the distant hilltop, where 
 
 The bending road and trees so fair 
 
 Cut off all else from view, a knight 
 
 Appears. His steed, a pearly white, 
 
 Foam-flecked as o'er the road he speeds 
 
 So proud, still scarce the bridle heeds. 
 
 His mane and tail, a tawny white. 
 
 Stream wild upon the breeze, and quite 
 
 In keeping with this beauteous steed. 
 
 His silver trappings, fine indeed, 
 
 But add to make a perfect horse. 
 
 Forsooth, as though some magic force 
 
 Did steal a picture from its frame. 
 
 Endow with breath and life the same; 
 
 Restore the fire to the eye; 
 
 Bring down his spirit from the sky; 
 
 Nor mar the beauty of the paint. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The silver cloth, the trappings quaint. 
 And yet, in praising of his steed, 
 Shall we forget the man, indeed ? 
 In perfect ease and careless grace, 
 He fits full well the rider's place. 
 His cloak is white of satin fair 
 And plain, in simple taste, save where 
 In threads of gold the border scroll 
 Is woven in the cloth ; and plain 
 Around the neck, a golden chain 
 Doth hold the cloak in place ; 
 And with the horse's flying pace 
 The bordered cloak doth frequent fail 
 To hide his bright chain-coat of mail. 
 Pure white, a plumed feather streams. 
 And visor raised, beneath there seems 
 A face that tells of manhood true; 
 His eyes a frank and laughing blue ; 
 A smile that tells his happy mien. 
 And from the helmet's edge there e'en 
 Doth steal a naughty, yellow curl. 
 There from above the winds unfurl 
 The pennant from his pointed lance. 
 From shining shield the sunbeams glance. 
 The pennant's shimm'ring, silken white 
 Doth flaunt in golden letters bright 
 A legend to the skies, and see, 
 Amid the shield's bold blazonry. 
 The curious read, so plain, so fair, 
 These words, "I seek the fairest," there. 
 
Then reins, forsooth, his restless steed 
 Within the dooryard of the mill. 
 
D ahnar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The lad makes way to let him by 
 
 In trembling haste, nor takes his eye, 
 
 In wondering gaze, from off the pair. 
 
 The farm hand looks with wide-eyed stare 
 
 And doited, open-mouthed surprise. 
 
 The child deserts his sandhill toys, 
 
 Half fearful, yet with curious gaze. 
 
 The silver sheen and noise amaze 
 
 Him. 'Tis a new thing to his eye. 
 
 And quite prepared to laugh or cry. 
 
 In wonderment, he stands thus still. 
 
 And e'en fair Dalmar at the mill 
 
 Doth turn around, so strange this sound. 
 
 As meets her eyes this fairy twain, 
 
 She too doth stare and stare again ; 
 
 And from her innocent blue eyes 
 
 Her frank admiring gaze doth steal, 
 
 As 'twere a prince from out the skies, 
 
 The hero of some fairy tale. 
 
 Nor all the maid's the wonder seems. 
 'Mid sylvan shades, the slanting beams 
 Of sunlight's setting, shimm'ring drifts. 
 And gleams, and strangely paints the rifts 
 Amid the parapet's torn ledge; 
 And keener outlines to the edge 
 The tower's form against the sky. 
 Nor lacks this splendid sylvan scene, 
 Where birds and trees and flowers vie 
 To make a perfect picture dream, 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Its queen, — for 'mid the setting e'en 
 Fair Nature's brightest jewel-gleam 
 Is placed; — as, bashful by the lattice sill 
 There stands fair Dalmar of the Mill. 
 Amid the ringlets of her hair 
 And 'round her graceful figure fair. 
 And too, caressingly beneath her chin, 
 The sunlight plays; and soft within 
 Her sunlit face, revealed, there lies 
 The beauty of her mild surprise. 
 Within her hand she careless holds 
 A new-plucked, budding, crimson rose. 
 
 He slows his pace, he slacks his speed. 
 
 Then reins, forsooth, his restless steed 
 
 Before the dooryard of the mill, 
 
 Where Dalmar, shy, her heartbeats still. 
 
 Amazed, doth breathless, wondering, stand. 
 
 With grace inborn, a knight indeed, 
 
 Dismounts he from his fiery steed, 
 
 And o'er his neck, with careless hand, 
 
 He throws the horse his bridle rein. 
 
 'Tis but a moment's time and then 
 
 He doffs his helmet to the ground. 
 
 And, bowing low, — the while the sound 
 
 Of silver spur and golden chain. 
 
 At every motion, chime again, — 
 
 He speaks these words, nor waits to pause ; 
 
 With outstretched hands he pleads his cause. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 "Behold ! A courtier of the reahn 
 
 Am I. Ne'er felt my heart a care. 
 
 Through torrid lands and countries bleak 
 
 I seek the fairest of the fair. 
 
 My task is done, my goal is won. 
 
 Aye, verily, than thee, to me 
 
 None fairer can there ever be. 
 
 Be mine, I worship thee! 
 
 Be mine, I love but thee! 
 
 Thou shalt not want, thou shalt not care; 
 
 Be mine, thou fairest of the fair !" 
 
 The maid looks down quite bashfully. 
 
 Ne'er other man had spoke as he. 
 
 "Nay, nay. Sir Knight, bethink thee, pray," 
 
 Saith she, "what thou art saying. Nay, 
 
 Art thou but jesting? At the most, 
 
 Kind sir, 'tis but a sorry jest 
 
 Thus lightly of thy love to boast. 
 
 Of me thou knowest naught, nor less, 
 
 My life. 'Tis but a simple girl, 
 
 A miller's daughter here, whose world 
 
 Hath ever been this wooded place. 
 
 Who ne'er hath seen thy courtly grace. 
 
 Nor yet a knight or lady fair. 
 
 Methinks that she would poor compare, 
 
 Sir Knight, with these and ill would seem 
 
 At ease 'mid flashing light and gleam 
 
 Of jewels rare, and wine and feast. 
 
 And of thy courtiers, e'en the least 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Would laugh to scorn thy country jade 
 That thou but now hast called a maid 
 Than whom, none fairer are to thee, 
 Yet ne'er hast seen before. Can't be 
 Thou fain would tempt me thus by gleam 
 And glitter of thy castle dream? 
 Thou speak'st but words, thou lov'st not me. 
 For shame!" 
 
 "Nay, nay! fair maid!" saith he, 
 "I jest thee not. Each word is true. 
 Why dost thou doubt? I love but you. 
 Must I, through patient, ling'ring days. 
 And sapient looks and sighing ways, 
 Bespeak thee, what in passioned word 
 I would beery to all the world? 
 Is love the worse if 'tis revealed. 
 Or thought the manliest concealed? 
 Thou see'st the pennant on my lance; 
 The words are plain. As search, perchance, 
 Some knights the Holy Grail, so I, 
 Forsooth, the fairest search. Thus flies 
 My streaming pennant high in air. 
 I search the fairest of the fair. 
 Through kingly court, through castle grand, 
 'Mid Persia's famed, through Grecian land, 
 'Mid Spaniards dark and Saxons fair, 
 And Normans have I searched with care. 
 Though fair, indeed, some maids have been, 
 Some lacking grace, some flaw has e'en 
 Revealed to me that they were not 
 
JVitli outstretched hands he pleads his cause 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The fairest, but in thee " 
 
 ''Say not, 
 Sir Knight. 'Tis but a moment's dream, 
 Thy fancied love. Thou scarce hast seen 
 Me, yet thy fancy runs so wild. 
 Bethinks thee, sir," she says and smiles. 
 The while she looks demurely down, 
 Then meets his glance with laughing frown; 
 ''Must I, because thou lovest me. 
 Return thy love? But, verily, 
 Believe thee can I not, that in 
 A moment's time " 
 
 '"Tis true, within 
 The hour have I seen in life 
 The maid Fate's chosen for my wife, — 
 Yet oft in sleep I've dreamed thy face. 
 And oft, through reverie's changing grace, 
 I've wooed the image of my dreams ; 
 And when I see thee there, it seems 
 As thou art not so strange. Ah, do 
 Not chide! My passioned words are true. 
 These have I spoken often when 
 I've dreamed of thee. Is't wonder, then. 
 That I should speak them now ? And dare 
 I not one hope that thou dost care 
 A trifle, too, for me? Recall 
 Thy words and say to me, for all 
 My love thou givest me a hope. 
 Just one, I beg, one single hope!" 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 ''And wouldst thou have me leave my home, 
 
 These woods, these flowers, all my own, 
 
 My father here, whose toil and care 
 
 Hath kept me safe, his daughter dear. 
 
 His child, his life, his all? How could 
 
 I leave him thus alone ? Nor would 
 
 He hear unto thy suit. Sir Knight. 
 
 Oh, listen but to me aright! — 
 
 Betake thee now upon thy way 
 
 And speak not to my father, pray. 
 
 Thou little know'st how stern he be 
 
 When aught is spoke, e'en jestingly, 
 
 That I be loved, or, loving, may 
 
 Belong to other heart some day. 
 
 So is his heart wrapped up in me. 
 
 He will but answer angrily. 
 
 Didst thou — Oh, sir, it is no jest." 
 
 He smiles and, hesitating lest 
 
 She say too much, she stops, confused. 
 
 Her cheeks with rose-matched hues infused, 
 
 The knight, with bold yet curious smile. 
 
 Hath listened patiently the while. 
 
 And, reading in his glance half caught, 
 
 Suspicions of an inner thought. 
 
 She speaks again : — 
 
 "Sir Knight, and know. 
 Though as thou lov'st, I loved thee so, 
 I would not thwart my father's will, 
 And he refuse, abide here still, 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 E'en though the world be at my feet. 
 Abide his word, nor think it meet 
 Without his blessing to depart, 
 E'en though the yearning broke my heart." 
 
 "Nay, nay," he speaks, "I ask not that." 
 And sweeps the ground with feathered hat, 
 Though tell-tale twinkling in his eye. 
 To wiser ones his words belie. 
 "I pray thee take me to thy sire. 
 That I make known my one desire. 
 Refuse me not, oh fairest one! 
 But grant that I may say I come 
 From thee to ask this boon for both. 
 Thy sire shall have fair lands, forsooth, 
 And in the castle live with thee. 
 In wealth and ease and luxury. 
 Come, princess of my heart, wilt say 
 That if I will thus speak, I may?" 
 
 And Dalmar, standing there so still, 
 
 Unwilling, bending to his will, 
 
 A newness burning in her heart 
 
 That singed her cheek until it smart, 
 
 A racing in her veins that thrilled. 
 
 That laughed, that danced, that yearned, yet filled 
 
 Her with dismay; that seemed to say, 
 
 "Joy ! Joy ! O yield thee, Dalmar, pray," 
 
 Yet held her back, drew down her eye, 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Suffused her cheek, a crimson spy 
 
 That told the tell-tale heart's desire, 
 
 As though 'twere cried by some town crier, — 
 
 Lifts up her eyes to his tense face, 
 
 Takes courage from his smile to place 
 
 That rose into his hand, which, since 
 
 His coming, she had held. Pretense 
 
 Enough for downcast eyes, a place 
 
 In which to hide, surprised, her face. 
 
 But now, — as answer to his prayer, 
 
 A token rose she places there 
 
 Into his hand. 
 
 One moment still. 
 Then darts she swift into the mill 
 A-trembling at her boldness, all 
 A-quiver at her deed; — So tall. 
 So fair a knight, so brave a steed, 
 Knight errant of her dreams, indeed; 
 Yet, when in shelter safe she hides, 
 A trembling fawn, her conscience chides 
 Her heart for its rash deed. 
 
 And still, 
 As strides the knight into the mill, 
 She listens to his every word. 
 For through the wall each sound is heard. 
 
 Surprised at such a visitor 
 
 Thus striding through the open door. 
 
 The miller pauses where he stands, 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Then quick reprized, extends his hands 
 Still white with meal. ''A welcome, sir, 
 A hearty welcome, sir," he says. 
 "O worthy knight, what varied ways 
 Have brought thee to this rambling mill ? 
 Thou 'rt 'cross a hospitable sill. 
 Behold, yon sun hath sunk to rest; 
 I beg thee, yield to my request, — 
 Nay! Do command! (For evening's hand 
 Hath turned the mill to castle grand.) 
 As king, I bid thee share the feast, 
 To grace the board as honored guest. 
 And bide you here till morrow's sun 
 Shall mark the day anew begun." 
 
 ''Kind sir," the knight begins, "though fain 
 I would thy cheer partake, refrain, — 
 Unless thou grantest my request. — 
 I must " 
 
 '"Tis granted ere 'tis asked. 
 Sir Knight I" the miller cries. 
 
 "Not so, 
 
 Kmd sir," the knight replies, "for know, 
 Sir Reginal De Guise am I, — 
 A knight of high degree am I, — 
 Nor lacking castles fair, nor lands. 
 Nor halberdiers, nor vassal hands. 
 Nor gold, nor aught of jewels rare; — 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Ah, lacking but in one thing fair. 
 So to my castle vowed to bring 
 Its one and beauteous lacking thing; 
 Self-doomed to nomad life, — to grace 
 No feast beneath a roof, — nor place 
 My head upon a pillow till, 
 
 miller of this mystic mill. 
 
 As blazoned on my buckler there, 
 
 1 find the fairest of the fair !" 
 
 The miller gasps. Before his eyes 
 
 His hands he clasps. Then, as defies 
 
 A desp'rate man his foe, he turns 
 
 To speak, — and then grows weak, as burns 
 
 Within his heart the thought that he 
 
 Hath guessed. 
 
 "Oh, sir, the fairest be 
 Thy daughter, here," the knight exclaims. 
 "The finest lands in my domains 
 Shall be to her a dower, and 
 The palace of De Guise shall be 
 To her a fairy flower-land. 
 And, lest I seem to you too bold, 
 Behold this token rose I hold ! 
 It is a passport, — hers, — to say 
 That if I will thus speak, I may." 
 
 The miller makes as if to speak, 
 But when he sees the rosebud, weak 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 He turns his face away ; then shakes 
 His fear from off his heart and makes 
 His tongue obey. 
 
 "Thou know'st, Sir Knight, 
 Not what thou ask'st. The evening Hght 
 Hath glamored 'fore thine eyes, a face 
 Which morrow's sun will soon deface. 
 For twilight's vague, romantic hour 
 Reveals to thee a flower 
 Well set amid this silver glade, 
 Yet plucked, will pale, its beauty fade." 
 
 "But, sir," the knight rejoins, "for aye 
 Thou canst not keep her here, and may 
 Not ill befall her in this land 
 Where might doth rule with iron hand?" 
 
 "Nay, sir," the miller says, "I fear 
 
 Me not. She's but a child, a dear 
 
 Unthinking child, who ne'er a thought 
 
 Of love hath dreamt, Sir Knight, or aught 
 
 Of love hath felt. A merest child, — 
 
 A hoyden, — laughing, romping, wild. 
 
 Come, sir, I bid thee cease this talk. 
 
 Ah ! There ! It is the chiming clock 
 
 That marks the dinner hour. 
 
 Forget thy quest, this rustic flower. 
 
 Again I bid thee rest thee here. 
 
 The nights are cold, yon forest drear. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Come, sir, a cheery meal and wine, 
 And afterwards, some good pastime 
 To while away the night." 
 
 De Guise 
 
 In this far, rambling speech doth see 
 His suit is far from won. Yet still, 
 So pleads this miller of the mill. 
 Despairing, though, his word to win. 
 He hesitates. His hopes within 
 This mill are hid. Accept he will. 
 Perhaps 'twill be vouchsafed to still 
 His heart, a sight of Dalmar there, 
 So sweet, so kind, so pure, so fair, 
 Perhaps, — his heart gives one wild leap, — 
 The chance may come, when he may peep 
 Again into those eyes and hold 
 Her slender hand in his, and bold 
 May whisper love words in her ear. 
 If not, — at least she would be near. 
 To look, to speak, — behind his back, 
 Perchance, to dart a glance. 
 
 ''Alack, 
 Kind sir, accept I must," the knight 
 At last replies. 
 
 "Aye, chosen right!" 
 The miller cries. "Come; waste no words; 
 The feast is groaning on the boards." 
 
D a I m ar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 But reckons not aright when he 
 Thus speaks, for Dalmar, trembHngly, 
 Hath Hstened to their words, whose task 
 Had been to deck the boards. Alas ! 
 As they come in, unto her shame, 
 The task is but begun. And red 
 Her cheeks, downcast — as words unsaid — 
 Her tell-tale eyes confess their guilt, 
 As hurr'ing to and fro, fear held, 
 She places quick the meal. 
 
 But ne'er 
 The miller heeds her glance, nor fair 
 The blushing crimson of her cheek. 
 Unto the knight he speaks, who, meek. 
 Distraught, unthinkingly doth stare, 
 Where'er she goes, at Dalmar fair. 
 
 And through the meal, this maid, this knight. 
 
 Exchange their glances o'er the light. 
 
 Awakening 'neath her liquid eyes. 
 
 The White Knight's courage seems to rise. 
 
 He quaffs the wine as though 'twere ale 
 
 And tells full many a stirring tale 
 
 Of joust and knight and lady fair. 
 
 Of Palestine and countries rare, 
 
 Of Moors and Danes, of Celtic might ; 
 
 Describes to them a Rom.an fight. 
 
 He tells of castle, moor and fen, 
 
 The craggy peak and lily glen. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 But most of all of castle hall, 
 With trophies hanging on the wall, 
 That tell the prowess of De Guise; 
 Extols its wealth, its luxury. 
 Describes the trees, the brook, the park, 
 The cooing turtle-dove, the lark. 
 The prancing steeds, the lowing cow ; 
 And paints a picture there, to grow 
 Within the mind of this poor child ; 
 The while the miller's gestures mild 
 Applaud; and all his glances still 
 Search out fair Dalmar of the Mill 
 As though he yearned her in his arms 
 To fold, — protect her from alarms, — 
 Distress her never by one thing. 
 And nought to her but pleasure bring. 
 
 "Come, sir," the miller says, at last. 
 When they had finished their repast, 
 "The night is young. If thou dost play, 
 I have the chess. In fine array. 
 We'll pit each piece against its kind. 
 Who shows the greater skill, we'll find." 
 
 "Aye, miller of the mill," the knight 
 
 Replies, "one game, by it abide. 
 
 I win, my banner in the air 
 
 I'll fling — the fairest of the fair 
 
 My bride. I lose, renounce my quest, 
 
 Take off this white and gilded dress 
 
Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 And sell my steed ; in future ride 
 A black knight, sombre shield, astride 
 A steed as dark. A wager ! Fill 
 The board, O miller of the mill !" 
 
 The miller, hesitating lest 
 
 Too much he wager with his guest 
 
 Doth pause, then half ashamed, he cries : 
 
 *T fear not. Fortune with me lies !" 
 
 And trembling, takes his arm-chaired place. 
 
 The knight opposes him with grace. 
 
 Fair Dalmar sitteth at his side. 
 
 By his tense words half terrified. 
 
 ''A Lopez," cries the miller gay. 
 As brings the knight his men in play. 
 Thus, Knight and Knight, to left and right; 
 Then Bishop to the black Queen's Knight. 
 
 A moment pausing o'er the board 
 To see what choice the men afford, 
 De Guise doth linger musingly, 
 While Dalmar leaneth close to see. 
 
 Then Queen advances once her man. 
 The miller waits, the board to scan. 
 Then twice the Queen's pawn pushes on. 
 'Tis captured by his fellow pawn, — 
 Reprized by joust of Kingly Knight; 
 Then Black, recouping 'fore the fight 
 
D a I mar , Daughter of the Mil 
 
 Doth pause the Bishop 'fore the Queen 
 
 To pay his due respects, and ther 
 
 The white Queen brings her Knight to serve 
 
 The Bishop's place and yet to swerve 
 
 To aid the pawn. Then Black, his Knight 
 
 Brings to the fray, and cautious White 
 
 A visit to his Castle pays 
 
 (The cunning of his game betrays), 
 
 Contented from this safe retreat 
 
 The sallies of his foe to meet. 
 
 While Dalmar's hand doth silent feel 
 Another hand 'neath covers steal. 
 A pressure thrilling through and through, 
 Which, tremblingly, returns she too. 
 
 And quick of thought, De Guise doth bring 
 
 The Bishop cowled before the King 
 
 To bear the coming battle's brunt. 
 
 (A strong, ecclesiastic front 
 
 They show, well flanked by Knights so brave, 
 
 As were they on parade, so grave. ) 
 
 But ere 'tis done, the Queen's Knight's man 
 
 Doth twice spring forth into the van. 
 
 As thinks the miller musingly, 
 Then steals Sir Reginal De Guise 
 A loving look unto the maid. 
 Which she returns, though half afraid 
 That, had he not forestalled his play, 
 His chessmen soon had lost their way. 
 
D al m ar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The King of sombre aspect seeks 
 His Castle. That, a knowledge speaks 
 Of danger lurking near. And White, 
 Between the Castle and the Knight 
 Doth bid the Bishop take his place, 
 To urge each on, if slacks their pace, 
 Or in retreat, to save the day. 
 
 But still De Guise divides the play 
 
 Between the board and Dalmar's face 
 
 And, looking quick, doth well to place 
 
 The Knight beside his master's Queen 
 
 (To kiss her queenly hand), and e'en 
 
 As 'twere a signal, opes the play. 
 
 The miller, wise, begins the fray. 
 
 The Knight takes Knight and Bishop Knight, 
 
 White Bishop aids the pawn. The fight 
 
 Goes merry, merry on, for pawn, 
 
 The Queen's, steps forth ; then pawn takes pawn. 
 
 The Bishop takes. Then Knight again 
 
 Retakes the Bishop and the Queen 
 
 Retakes the Knight. 
 
 Ah, Dalmar's face, 
 Sir Knight, hath lured thee with its grace. 
 Thou'lt find in squeezing hands, in sighs 
 And looking into liquid eyes, 
 No rules for chess. 
 
 "Sir Reginal," 
 The miller cries, ''thou'st lost it all ! 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The Queen's En Prize, dost see?" and then 
 Before his eyes, the Bishop e'en 
 Doth take the Castle's pawn. "'Tis check, 
 And must thou move thy King. I take 
 The Queen." 
 
 "'Tis lost," the knight replies. 
 Then comes again before his eyes 
 The picture of his hope; doth seem 
 As Dalmar stands there in a dream. 
 But quick reprized, his face he steels 
 And, rising from his place, he feels 
 As palsied are his limbs. ''Kind sir," 
 He says, '"tis fate, the chessmen were 
 The test. Resolved I am to take 
 Their meed. Before it is too late 
 I take the lonely road. Persuade 
 Me not, for my resolve is made." 
 
 As e'en the miller begs De Guise, 
 The more resolved he seems to be; 
 And when the miller sees he can 
 Persuade him not, as man to man, 
 He takes his hand and to his guest 
 He speaks. "Though I do thy request 
 Deny, Sir Reginald De Guise, 
 Thyself hath pleased me verily. 
 Yet 't seems 'twere wise. In after days 
 Thou'lt see the wisdom of my ways. 
 A kind farewell. May blessings, sir, 
 Be on thy way. But wait, before 
 You go, — yes, Dalmar, bring the wine. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 That portion for yourself, this mine. 
 The glass hold high and drink the toast, 
 Forgive the miller-king his boast, — 
 Then drink, lad, to the castle mill, 
 When night is here and all is still. 
 Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
 My realm ! For 't night I am a king !" 
 
 The knight his glass holds high in air. 
 Then silent drinks to Dalmar fair. 
 "Farewell, a kind farewell !" he cries. 
 Addressing Dalmar with his eyes. 
 He picks his helmet from the floor. 
 Takes up his shield there by the door. 
 Then sudden, falls his wandering glance 
 Upon his gold bespangled lance. 
 
 "Ah, this shall be to thee a gift. 
 Fair Dalmar of the Mill," and swift 
 He places it into her hands. 
 "A gift, le'en though in foreign lands 
 I wander far, that thou mayst know. 
 As loves no man, I love thee so. 
 Reminder may it be that I am true. 
 My heart I leave with thee, and too. 
 If e'er in need of my strong arm 
 To shield thee aught from any harm, 
 From yonder turret, mounting high, 
 Wilt flaunt this standard to the sky? 
 Perchance fair Fate on that dire day 
 Shall lead my wandering steed this way !" 
 
Dalntar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Then standing in the doorway still, 
 
 Bespeaks the miller of the mill : 
 
 ''The game, kind sir, with two false plays 
 
 Hath lost to me my hopes," he says, 
 
 ''But know, as chessmen in the game 
 
 Play fickle on the board, the same 
 
 Doth Fortune with her pawns and men. 
 
 And if ye see me e'er again, 
 
 'Twill be to come a champion knight 
 
 To claim fair Dalmar as my right. 
 
 Take heed ! So far thou'st won the game, 
 
 Oh miller-king! Yet fortune e'en 
 
 May change, and in her future game 
 
 A Black Knight take the White King's Queen 
 
 And Bishop then, to end the play 
 
 With black-robed priests and grand array. 
 
 In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 
 
 And cowled pomp, declare 'tis 'mate." 
 
 They hear him whistle to his horse, — 
 An answer whinny from the gorse, — 
 Then trampling hoof-beats on the ground, 
 And fainter, fainter grows the sound; 
 Then fainter still, and dies away. 
 
 Then hums the miller 'gain his lay. 
 Forgetting all his words have cost, 
 Rememb'ring but his merry toast, — 
 "Then drink, lad, to the castle mill, 
 When night is here and all is still." 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 But Dalmar there doth hide her eyes, 
 And in the darkness, child, she cries. 
 She presses to her troubled breast 
 The object of his one request. 
 She kisses each and every star 
 Upon its silken white, and far 
 Into the night well out her tears. 
 Till dreamland closes up her ears 
 To aught but that one sweetest word 
 Which he had whispered, she had heard. 
 
 Forsooth, and oft a knight doth sigh ; 
 
 Alas ! and oft a maid doth cry 
 
 When thinking of that summer day. 
 
 And oft a maid looks up the way 
 
 Where one had come for that short hour, 
 
 To woo the miller's budding flower. 
 
 And oft a knight doth kiss a rose 
 
 That, quaint, its gnarled thorn-stem close 
 
 Against a lattice window held. 
 
 Poor rose! How oft have tear-drops welled 
 
 To wet thy withered leaves ! 
 
 A gold 
 And silken banner, legend bold. 
 Doth stand within a tower, pressed 
 Each day unto a maiden's breast. 
 Each starry letter, shining bright 
 Against the folds of silken white, 
 Have felt the touch of red lips true; 
 As loved he her, so love she too. 
 
 5 
 
DALMAR 
 
 Daughter of the Mill 
 CANTO II. 
 
 HERE parapet and turret tower ; 
 Where battlement, as though some power 
 Did mark the battle's dread array; 
 Or yet some mediaeval fray 
 Did, mayhap, mar the massive wall 
 With battering ram or slingshot ball; 
 Where latticed window's narrow space 
 Doth seem to mark the favorite place 
 Where archers sent their feathered shaft, 
 Or spearsmen showed their bloody craft; 
 Where, 'round and 'round, the lazy moat, 
 Fed by the stream, doth seem to gloat 
 O'er carnage past and bloody strife, 
 Or days and nights thus ever rife 
 With shouts and laughter of the feast ; 
 Where creaking drawbridge to the East, 
 All seem to mark a castle grand; 
 Where wassail lord his lowly band 
 Did ever rule with iron hand. 
 And serf to lordly will did bend, — 
 There rules Sir Redver Onverand, 
 A baron of the goodly time 
 When feast and battle-rout did chime 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 With joust and wine and women fair. 
 A bluff, coarse man, with lordly air. 
 And loud of voice, this worthy peer 
 Doth hold his serfs in cringing fear. 
 
 Within the hall there, every night, 
 Till sunbeams streak the morning light, 
 The shouting of the motley throng 
 Is heard. 'Mid wine and ribald song 
 They drink the night away, and gray, 
 The dawning of a beauteous day, 
 Oft finds a drunk, besotten lot 
 Asleep around an empty pot. 
 
 A jester in this castle hall 
 
 Must e'en perform with cap and ball : 
 
 A poor, misshapen, wizened thing. 
 
 Whose pranks and grimace faces bring 
 
 The laughter to their throats. His round, 
 
 Large head, his arms that touch the ground, 
 
 The hump upon his shapeless back, 
 
 His motley clinging like a sack. 
 
 The grimace of his face, low browed, 
 
 All seem a jest unto the crowd. 
 
 Who follow leading of their lord, 
 
 And banter, jesting, round the board. 
 
 The motley hunchback's queer array. 
 
 Nor lacks he repartee or play 
 
 Of words, or jest to flay the hide 
 
 Of duller men than he, — ;deride 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The tipster, grimace to his face 
 And mock his mien with grotesque pace, 
 Or thrust a deep and scornful prod 
 To raise the laughter of the crowd. 
 
 The tipster's brawl, the ribald jest, 
 
 All hold for him a great disgust. 
 
 And tied, a henchman to this lord, 
 
 A poor, misshapen thing abhorred; 
 
 His life, indeed, doth seem to be 
 
 One long drawn, dreadful misery. 
 
 Is't wonder that on leisure days 
 
 A visit to the woods he pays, 
 
 Alone with Nature and her life, 
 
 Away from motley, bells and strife. 
 
 Or in his wanderings that his feet 
 
 A pathway to the mill should meet, 
 
 Or that his wizened shape, perchance. 
 
 Should meet fair Dalmar's careless glance? 
 
 In pity for this ugly man 
 
 She speaks as kindly as she can : 
 
 ''Good sir, and can I help thee, pray. 
 
 Or aught can aid thee on thy way?" 
 
 "Sweet maid, my name is Conatassel; 
 The dwarf, I am, of yonder castle; 
 And if I may but rest me by 
 This step, the way is long," — (a sigh 
 He heaves as he sits down) — "I will 
 E'en thank thee, if thou wilt but fill 
 
D alniar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 A cup from yonder water's race, 
 That I may quench my thirst." 
 
 The face 
 Of Dalmar grows, with pity, sad. 
 And, hasting in the doorway, glad 
 To do a good, kind deed, doth fill 
 A glass of wane within the mill 
 And adds a sweet cake, golden brown, 
 A rare confection of her own. 
 She brings them to the dwarf and says : 
 "Pray tell me, sir, of their fine ways 
 That yonder in the castle dwell." 
 
 'Tair maid," he says, "it is as well 
 
 Thou knowest naught of castle grand, 
 
 Or yet, Sir Redver's ribald band. 
 
 O child, how little do you guess 
 
 What wrongs there are without redress ! 
 
 Come, let us talk of other things. 
 
 The woods, the birds, fair-winged things." 
 
 And thus begins a friendship 'tween 
 The dwarf and Dalmar fair. As e'en 
 The weeks grow into months, a day 
 Scarce passes that his steps that way 
 The jester does not wend. And too. 
 The miller likes the man'kin who 
 Within his dwarfed exterior 
 Doth hide a mind superior. 
 
Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 The chessmen often wend their game 
 Across the miller's checquered plane. 
 Fair Dalmar treats him like a child, 
 A wizened shape with eyes so mild. 
 Caressingly she pets his hand, 
 Or turns, with careless mien, the band 
 That marks him bounden to his lord, 
 Or twirls his dagger that his sword 
 He calls. 
 
 The jester dwarf, alack, 
 Doth carry 'neath his peaked back 
 A heart that throbs, a man's, and each 
 Caress so light bestowed doth reach 
 His tender soul and sear it deep 
 With burning love. His days, his sleep, 
 Are all beset with her fair face. 
 Her voice, her eyes, her figure's grace. 
 
 And Dalmar, fair, sweet, innocent, 
 Ne'er guesses this poor jester's bent. 
 She grows each day more fair to see. 
 Ofttimes her thoughts are on De Guise, 
 But thinks of him as one in some 
 Far-distant time, again to come, 
 A prince in an enchanted vale, 
 The hero of her fairy tale. 
 
 The jester, wand'ring 'neath the trees. 
 Fair Dalmar 'mid the shadows sees. 
 
Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 He calls her name and soon the pair 
 Together gather flowers fair. 
 
 "And why, my Conatassel," saith 
 The maid, "dost thou seem so distrait? 
 What sombre thought has ta'en away 
 Thy smile and jest, this summer day?" 
 
 "Ah, Dalmar, child, thou knowest not. 
 What wicked, twisted, motley thought 
 My mind encompasses. Ah, child, 
 This cap and bells will set me >wild ! 
 A jester fool am I ; the butt 
 Of yonder Lord Sir Redver's wit. 
 I caper, screw my face awry, 
 A poor, tormented jester daff. 
 To twist each moment's agony 
 Into the semblance of a laugh." 
 
 She puts her arms around his neck, 
 Caressing his poor hair, but quick 
 He throws her arms away and fierce 
 Upon her turns. His dark eyes pierce 
 Her mild surprise. In rage he speaks : 
 "Why do you pet me so? What makes 
 You put your arms around me, treat 
 Me as a child ? This heart doth beat. 
 Though in a carcass built so mean. 
 As true as any man's and e'en 
 Can feel, can love, can worship thee! 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Ah, Dalmar child, and canst not see 
 My heart, my soul is thine, — and though 
 My body's shapeless, ugly, so 
 Is not my soul ? Ah, Dalmar, dear. 
 Look not away, nor show this fear 
 Of my poor, fervent pleading! Say 
 Thou dost not hate me, Dalmar, pray ! 
 I cannot help I love thee, child; 
 I've fought it day by day," and wild 
 He falls upon his knee. "I love 
 Thee as a being far above 
 Me. Nay, repulse me not, but say 
 Thou wilt forget the outer clay 
 And see the inner man, — a heart 
 That beats but for thyself apart, 
 A soul built up of one fair scene, 
 A life in which thou art the queen." 
 
 But Dalmar, listening scarce unto 
 
 His words, doth stand a-trembling through 
 
 The fear of this fierce dwarf. She thought 
 
 Him but a child. Her mind ne'er sought 
 
 The reason of his coming there. 
 
 She pitied him, she stroked his hair; 
 
 She put her arms about him as 
 
 She would a lad or country lass, 
 
 Who, hurt, did need a min'string kiss 
 
 To cure, or mayhap, a caress. 
 
 Before this wizened man, whose eyes 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 So fierce her sweet soul terrifies, 
 
 Whose passion tense distorts his face 
 
 Into a hideous grimace, 
 
 Whose long, thin arms and ape-like hands 
 
 Like ten'cles seem, she trembling stands 
 
 And then springs like a hunted deer 
 
 From this new, incarnated fear. 
 
 And when he calls to her to stay, 
 
 She pauses long enough to say : 
 
 ''Oh, leave me ! Go ! I hate you ! Go ! 
 
 I cannot love, I hate you so !" 
 
 Then speeding to her father's mill, 
 She rushes to the turret still. 
 The banner snatches to her breast 
 And weeps, with fear and rage suppressed. 
 That such an one of love should speak, 
 A hideous hunchback, ugly, weak! 
 She presses to her lips the white. 
 Bespangled banner of the knight; 
 Compares to him, so brave, so true, 
 This dwarf. In rage none can subdue, 
 As to her mind the knight appears, 
 She sheds a flood of bitter tears. 
 
 Nor blame the dwarf, so sensitive, 
 That he should to his rage o*ergive. 
 In one so dwarfed, the mind, perchance, 
 Is wounded by the self-same lance 
 Of Fate that marred the twisted form. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 A body that is so ill born 
 
 Doth taint, mayhap, the inner mind. 
 
 In judging rightly, we shall find 
 
 The small man, wizened, weak, doth e'en 
 
 Display a strong, revengeful mien. 
 
 While larger men, with richer blood. 
 
 Forgive and leave revenge to God. 
 
 As though fair Fate had willed the deed. 
 Is ne'er a fairer chance to need. 
 For when he comes unto his lord, 
 In jest, Sir Redver raps the board. 
 The throng stands up from left and right, 
 As though to honor some great knight. 
 With jesting bow and mocking bend 
 Begins Sir Redver Onverand : 
 "A welcome, fair and gallant Conatassel, 
 Unto our land and goodly castle. 
 Why dost thou wander o'er the land 
 And shun this hale and hearty band? 
 Mayhap, good sirs, I wot 'tis so, 
 Some country maid he goes to woo." 
 At that, a merry laugh bursts out 
 From every blear, half-drunken clout. 
 
 The jester, trembling in his fear. 
 
 Doth cast about with sullen leer, 
 
 For aught to aid him from this wrath. 
 
 Or to some other turn the laugh. 
 
 A sin'ster thought his mind tempts on. 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Another moment and 'tis done. 
 
 "Sir Redver," saith the manikin, 
 
 "I did but listless wander in 
 
 The woods of yonder silver vale, 
 
 But if thou'lt listen to my tale, 
 
 Which thy fair words doth bring to mind, 
 
 In wandering there, I e'en did find 
 
 O'er yonder vale, a rustic mill. 
 
 A common sight it is, but still, 
 
 As I did draw a-near to it, 
 
 Forsooth, to rest a little bit, 
 
 A maid came forth, so sweet, so fair, 
 
 With bluest eyes and nut-brown hair. 
 
 Nay, nay, sirs, such an one is not for me. 
 
 But good Sir Redver, verily. 
 
 Forgive the word of Conatassel, 
 
 An one to grace this goodly castle." 
 
 "Good sirs," Sir Redver laughing cries, 
 
 "A jesting fool doth me advise 
 
 A miller's daughter take to wife, 
 
 A country jade, upon my life, 
 
 A plump, round, bouncing maid, I wist. 
 
 Tied round as were she sack of grist." 
 
 "Nay, nay. Sir Redver; hear me, pray. 
 My head be on it, what I say. 
 As such an one you ne'er have seen 
 In courtly lady, maid, or queen." 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 "Sirrah, what nonsense dost thou say? 
 I'll take thee at thy ovord this day. 
 Odds blood, and hath she not the grace, 
 Nay, fairer is she not of face 
 Than any maid that I have seen, 
 Surpassing beauty of a queen. 
 Then thou wilt answer for it, sir !'* 
 
 "'Tis done, Sir Redver, 'sooth, and were 
 She here, forgiven would I be 
 For all this praise. Aye, verily, 
 My head be on it." 
 
 "Hear, good sirs, 
 What this poor, jesting fool avers. 
 Go, bring the miller to this hall. 
 Soon we shall see what shall befall." 
 
 The miller pale, with face distraught, 
 His mind disturbed with anxious thought. 
 Is brought before this ruddy lord. 
 "Know, miller, sir, and ^we have heard," 
 Sir Redver suavely speaks, "that in 
 Thy rustic mill, 'mid sack and grain, 
 Hath grown a beauteous, witching maid. 
 Forsooth, to whom, when all is said, 
 None other can compare. Aye, fair, 
 With bluest eyes and nut-brown hair, 
 A maid with grace and queenly ways. 
 So saith the bard who sings her praise. 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 We bid thee bring before our eyes, 
 This beauteous maid, this queenly prize. 
 Forsooth, and doth she suit our taste. 
 Our time we shall no further waste 
 By looking for another, sir, 
 But honor thee by making her 
 The mistress of this goodly castle. 
 Aye, what say ye, my Conatassel?" 
 
 The miller looks around in fear 
 And scans the jester's trembling leer. 
 He wipes his brow, scarce knowing, says : 
 "My daughter, sir, is yet, in ways, 
 A merest child. She lacks the grace. 
 The courtly ways, to fill a place 
 In thy grand castle here, and sir, 
 I trust thou wilt not think of her. 
 Bethink thee of some maid more fair 
 And leave the child still in my care." 
 
 "What! Wilt thou thwart my plan?" 
 Sir Redver cries. "I do command !" 
 
 "Nay, sire," his face with rage infused, 
 The miller cries, "I do refuse 
 To bring my child to be thy sport, 
 With such a drunken rake consort, 
 E'en ithough he maketh her his wife." 
 
 Sir Redver chokes with rage. "'S life!" 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 He cries. His eyes stick from his head. 
 "What means this lout?" His face turns red. 
 He chokes and gasps to gain his breath. 
 "With such a drunken rake! 'Sdeath!" 
 
 His lips turn white, his eye-balls roll, 
 And Death had nearly claimed his soul. 
 They bring him wine, they ease his neck ; 
 Reprized, he holds himself in check. 
 
 "Sir, miller, lout," he cries suave, 
 And thou wish to escape the grave ! 
 'Sdeath ! ThouMst best obey my will. 
 Make ready then this hour, thy mill. 
 To greet this goodly company. 
 What say ye, sirs ? Aye, verily, 
 We shall attend a wedding there; 
 The miller's daughter, called so fair. 
 And yonder comely Conatassel, 
 Our valued jester of this castle. 
 And know, O miller, but a jest 
 Shall be her marriage at the best. 
 In tawdry motley shall it be 
 Proclaimed a cowled mockery. 
 Aye, wedded, yet ne'er wed. 'Tis well. 
 Within my castle shall she dwell. 
 So here's to jester's wife to be. 
 We'll drink, sirs, to her chastity." 
 
 The miller's raging knows no bound, 
 His moving lips give forth no sound. 
 
Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 And when, at length, they lead him 'way, 
 He musters breath enough to say: 
 ''And thou dost carry out thy threat. 
 Sir Redver, know, my mind is set; 
 Protect her with my life I will, 
 And ere I die, shall one lie still. 
 Aye, sir, her blood be on thy head; 
 Than see her thus, I'll see her dead !" 
 
 Sir Redver, laughing at this speech, 
 
 Again, doth for the wine pot reach. 
 
 "Methinks, a merry time's in store. 
 
 Until we've settled with this boor. 
 
 A threat, kind sirs, an idle threat. 
 
 This miller's bravery. And yet. 
 
 Mayhap, a maid that's prized so high 
 
 Will be a jewel worth the try." 
 
 With that he drinks the tankard down. 
 
 ''What, wilt thou speak, thou jester clown?" 
 
 "Oh, sir," the jester says, his thought 
 By his desire great distraught. 
 All eagerly he wants to aid 
 To gain, as wife, this beauteous maid. 
 Ne'er dreaming, in Sir Redver's mind 
 What sin'ster thoughts there lurked behind 
 When he had made her jester's wife, 
 '"Tis true, this miller with his life 
 Will guard the honor of his child. 
 I know the man, his courage wild. 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 There is a pathway through the wood, 
 While he will take the longer road. 
 If I o'erreach him to the place 
 And bar the door before his face, 
 The game is won. Or need it be," 
 He taps his dagger knowingly, 
 "And do I win, a signal will 
 I hoist above the rustic mill. 
 And you, with all your men, will be 
 Beneath the hill, and when you see 
 The signal, haste to gain the day." 
 
 "A plotter," cries Sir Redver gay, 
 ''Who anxious, plots to gain his bride. 
 'Tis well. Then haste and we will ride. 
 Ho! Varlet, bring my trusty steed. 
 Now, sirs, another glass of mead. 
 Then do we follow. Ah, my sword, 
 And are we ready? Ton my word, 
 I'd near forgot. The monk, thou boor, 
 Go fetch the monk and quicker o'er 
 Will be the wedding hour. Sirs, 
 My shield, my helmet and my spurs." 
 
 They leave the hall, a motley throng, 
 While hastes the dwarf the path along. 
 His brain, afire with this deed. 
 Doth urge him on with greater speed. 
 And on the road the miller hastes. 
 His pent-up rage to air he wastes, 
 
} ^.'/ ^ 
 
 i ,-^ 
 
 
 // Tca^, forsooth, — ivhat curious chance! — 
 Sir Rcgiiial's fair, hauncrcd lance. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Nor thinks, nor plans, but hastens still, 
 His one great need to gain the mill. 
 
 And such the angry miller's speed, 
 Before the dwarf, as is his need, 
 He gains the doorstep of the mill. 
 He bars the door, while o'er the sill, 
 That rose-decked window sill, climbs in 
 The ugly dwarf. When once within, 
 With cat-like tread and dagger drawn. 
 Thus stealthily he creeps upon 
 The miller, who, his back turned still, 
 With double bars makes fast the mill. 
 
 Her father hastening to greet 
 Fair Dalmar, in the doorway meets 
 This treachery. Ah, wounding wide. 
 The dagger strikes the miller's side 
 Before her piercing scream can reach 
 His ear, and, crimson in the breach. 
 His life-blood rushes out. Her cry. 
 As to her father she doth fly, 
 The jester fills with awful fear. 
 And quickly up the turret stair 
 He runs and bars the door. But she 
 Moans o'er her sire, caressingly. 
 Who seems so limp, as were he dead, 
 Nor heeds the dwarf, who o'er her head 
 Is palsied. Fear convulsed he stands ; 
 
Dal mar J Daughter of the Mil 
 
 And as unclasps and clasps his hands, 
 A moan comes from the room below, 
 And then the sound of sobbing low. 
 
 Remembering, then Sir Redver's band, 
 He grasps what first comes to his hand. 
 It is, forsooth, — What curious chance? — 
 Sir Reginal's fair-bannered lance! 
 He rushes up the turret high. 
 Unfolds unto the pearly sky 
 The snow-white banner of De Guise 
 And plants it bravely to the breeze. 
 While down the hill and round the bend 
 There comes Sir Redver Onverand. 
 He leads a motley band indeed, 
 Astride a noble, snow-white steed. 
 
 Before the gateway of the mill 
 They pause. There all is still. 
 Fair Dalmar staunches, sad, the wound. 
 While he, recovered from his swoon. 
 Retells her all : Sir Redver's threat. 
 The dwarf, his own rash words, and, wet 
 With tears, her eyes still flash with fire. 
 As speaks she loving to her sire : 
 "O father ! fear thee not that he 
 Will lead me to his revelry; 
 For, rather would I take my life, 
 Than for one instant be his wife !" 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Ere she hath done, a thund'ring shout 
 Fain tells Sir Redver is without. 
 "Ho ! there within ! We do demand 
 To open for thy lord !" They stand 
 In silence, but no sound they hear. 
 Then at the word they all draw near. 
 Together, then, with sudden cry, 
 Against the door their strength they try. 
 Once doth the door the throng withstand, 
 Then snaps the hinge's iron band. 
 
 The door falls in. They see within. 
 The setting sunlight, in a flood, 
 Streams slanting o'er the fallen door, 
 Where Dalmar staunches there the blood 
 That trickles to the oaken floor 
 Red from the wounded miller's breast. 
 But almost ere the door has crashed 
 And echoed through the raftered hall, — 
 As sudden, at their deed, they all 
 An instant awed and silent stand, — 
 She springs erect and in her hand 
 The red assassin's ghastly knife, 
 Still crimson with her father's life. 
 She holds aloft, — and tears the dress 
 From o'er her quiv'ring, heaving breast. 
 
 "Stand back 1" she cries. "But one step more 
 And I will plunge this in my breast ! 
 Sir Redver, step but there across that door, 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 A lifeless triumph at the best 
 Will be thy victory." 
 
 Aghast, 
 They silent stand. The dagger clasped 
 In quiv'ring hand, alone betrays 
 She lives. So still, in marble cast, 
 Sid Redver seems. Each menial stays 
 His breath in awe. None dare to breathe, 
 Lest then the quiv'ring hand should sheath 
 The dagger in her breast. 
 
 A cry, 
 Unsheathed to the listening sky. 
 Loud echoes, piercing strange from hill 
 To tragic setting 'round the mill. 
 "A champion!" cries the trembling maid, 
 And ere her words are fairly said, 
 A rider on a coal black steed 
 A-down the hill doth dashing speed. 
 Each step he cries his horse to haste 
 And faster falls his whip apace. 
 As speeds he on, his cloak of black 
 Waves wild upon the breeze, and black 
 The shield and helmet both betray 
 To none, "De Guise." He seems to sway. 
 His horse, exhausted, staggers down. 
 Yet slacks he not; again lays on 
 The whip, until, within their midst. 
 On foaming steed, he breathless sits, — 
 
A rider on a coal black steed 
 
 A down the hill doth dashi}ig s/^eed. 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 His visor down, his rein now slack, 
 On sable steed, "A Knight in Black." 
 
 A moment thus, there, face to face, 
 Sir Redver and the knight their gaze 
 In silent wrath exchange. In scorn. 
 Sir Redver then, in words inborn 
 With hate to this strange man, exclaims : 
 "Sir Knight, of sombre hue, what claims 
 Have you to challenge me? What right 
 To champion thus a cause, or fight 
 For that which rightly I call mine?" 
 
 "Sirrah! What rightly thou call'st thine?" 
 The knight exclaims, as loosed from throat, 
 His sable cloak doth show his coat 
 Of bright chain mail. He tosses, bold, 
 His helmet to the throng. "Behold!" 
 He cries, and points up to the tower, 
 Where long within the passing hour. 
 The pennant streams in blaze of white, 
 "Seest thou those legend letters bright 
 Across that pennant's face?" And then 
 From shield he tears, from end to end, 
 The cloth that hides the steel from light. 
 And shows, emblazoned to their sight. 
 The pennant's self-same legend fair, 
 These words : "I seek the fairest," there. 
 
 "Doth question now my right to stand 
 
Dalmar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Defender from thy ruthless hand, 
 Sweet Dalmar, Daughter of the Mill ?" 
 
 Sir iRedver 'stride his steed sits still. 
 
 Then scornful smiles he at the knight, 
 
 As if to jeer his fancy's flight. 
 
 But ere he can, the knight, with grace. 
 
 Casts from his side his cloak, then throws 
 
 His gauntlet full into his face. 
 
 *1 challenge thee to fight." He draws 
 
 His sword. Sir Redver crimsons 'neath 
 
 The blow, then quick his sword from sheath 
 
 Withdraws. The crowd, from left and right. 
 
 Make way to give them room to fight. 
 
 Black charger to the left and white 
 
 To right. Spurs to the black. Sir Knight. 
 
 Sir Redver's sword for a lash. 
 
 The white. Then, spring together, clash. 
 
 Each steel on shield, loud crash and crash. 
 
 Wheel to the right, both to the fight. 
 
 Oath from Sir Redver, shout. Sir Knight. 
 
 Bright streams his yellow hair, the breeze 
 Curling in ringlets fair, De Guise! 
 With visor down. Sir Redver on, 
 On to the fray spurs white his way! 
 Crash! Crash! Again! A shout, and then, 
 Ah, God ! Glanced from shield, the Black, 
 Pierced to the heart, neighs, staggers back, 
 
Dal mar, Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Then falls, but ere he falls, the Knight, 
 Enraged, strikes out in angered might. 
 Tis caught on shield. Sir Redver reels. 
 He reels, then grasps at mane. He reels, 
 "My God r he calls, grasps wild, then falls. 
 Unhorsed, there both, each Sir Knight lies, 
 Then up Sir Redver to the fray, 
 But pinioned by his horse still lies, 
 Alas, Sir Reginal De Guise! 
 
 Fair Dalmar sinks upon her knees 
 
 And prays in fear, as draws he near. 
 
 Sir Redver to the knight there prone. 
 
 "I've won !" he cries, "Sir Knight, I've won !" 
 
 Then strikes a blow with might and main. 
 
 (For shame to strike him thus!) Again 
 
 His shield stands him in need, the knight. 
 
 The sword blade spends its two-hand might 
 
 Upon its steel. On charger's back 
 
 The glancing blade drives deep. The black, 
 
 In quiv'ring struggle starts with pain. 
 
 Then stiff in death, falls back again. 
 
 But ere he falls, De Guise, released, 
 
 Springs up, his strength and might increased. 
 
 They slash, they lunge, in battle plunge. 
 
 From left to right, around, around. 
 
 In circles o'er the millyard ground. 
 
 And ever cries the motley throng, — 
 
 "Sir Redver on! Sir Redver on!" 
 
 From front to back, from- left to right. 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Sir Redver and the gallant knight, 
 
 From road to stream, then circling back, 
 
 Then o'er his corpse, the charger black. 
 
 On shield and steel in wild tattoo, 
 
 Sir Redver grim, but at each blow 
 
 That tells, the knight cries, "To the fight ! 
 
 I serve the fairest ! Ho, my blade ! 
 
 Be true my blade! Well done my blade!" 
 
 And Dalmar there on bended knee, 
 
 Forgets to pray. 
 
 Shouts on the throng, 
 "Sir Redver on! Sir Redver on !" 
 
 She sudden springs to feet. "De Guise !" 
 She cries. "De Guise !" Above the noise. 
 The shouts, the clash, sounds clear her voice, — 
 "On, on! De Guise! On, on! DeGuise!" 
 
 He hears. It spurs him on to fight. 
 
 He strikes a blow with all his might. 
 
 He drives it home, past shield and guard, 
 
 To gorge, through gorge, through neck, through 
 
 gorge. 
 And headless stands Sir Redver there. 
 His shield still raised, his sword in air. 
 Then quivers, trembles ; down he falls! 
 The visored helmet, head and all, 
 A ghastly object, rolls and rolls 
 Until it strikes the turret wall. 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 'Tis done ! There o'er his foe, to breathe 
 
 An instant silent pauses he; 
 
 Then springs Sir Reginal De Guise 
 
 To where, again on bended knee. 
 
 The maid prays for her champion's might. 
 
 "Look, Dalmar, see!" He cries. And white 
 
 Her face, she looks up where his eyes 
 
 Meet hers, then springs erect and flings 
 
 Herself into his arms. She cries: 
 
 "Thank God ! You win ! You win !" and then 
 
 Forgetful till this moment, turns 
 
 To where the miller's life-flame burns 
 
 Thus fitful to its tragic end. 
 
 "O father! Father! Look !" she cries. 
 
 And kneels beside him where he lies. 
 
 "Look! Father! Look! The Knight De Guise 
 
 Is here, and I, thy Dalmar, see ! 
 
 O father, speak !" she cries as tears 
 
 Well from her eyes. The miller hears 
 
 As in a dream. He stirs and sighs. 
 
 And turns his head, and pets her hair. 
 
 Then sees the knight still standing there. 
 
 As he had stood thus once before. 
 
 His figure in the open door ; 
 
 His bright chain mail, his hair of gold. 
 
 That self-same smile, those eyes so bold ; 
 
 But as he looks, the serfs without 
 
 Bring in his cloak, and round about 
 
 His frame he draws the cloth, and too, 
 
 His helmet fits upon his brow; 
 
 8 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 And visor down, transformed, the sound 
 Of his fair voice repeats each word 
 That, once before, these two had heard; 
 Unchanged, but that his coat of white 
 Has changed its hue to sombre night ; 
 Unchanged his words of jest, forsooth. 
 But that he speaks them now in truth : 
 
 ''As chessmen often in the game 
 
 Play fickle on the board, the same 
 
 Doth Fortune with her pawns and men, 
 
 And if you see me e'er again, 
 
 'Twill be to come, a champion knight. 
 
 To claim fair Dalmar as my right. 
 
 Take heed, so far thou'st won the game, 
 
 O miller-king, yet Fortune e'en 
 
 May change, and in her future game 
 
 A Black Knight take the White King's Queen, 
 
 And Bishop then, to end the play. 
 
 With black-robed priests and grand array. 
 
 In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 
 
 And cowled pomp, declare 'tis 'mate.' " 
 
 The miller makes as if to rise. 
 
 He points his hand without and cries : 
 
 "Yon cowled monk !" Then gasps in pain 
 
 And sinks unto the floor again. 
 
 The priest comes in and kneels to shrive. 
 
 To speak, the miller seems to strive. 
 
 "Not here," he gasps, "not here, but there; 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Unite in wedlock yonder pair." 
 The monk turns in surprise and sees 
 Fair Dalmar standing by De Guise. 
 One moment only, hand in hand, 
 A few words spoken as they stand, 
 And then 'tis o'er, the deed is done, 
 Sir Reginal De Guise has won. 
 
 The miller's eyes, with glassy glare, 
 Around the mill-room seem to stare. 
 The rafter ceiling 'pears to rise 
 To domed church-roof in his eyes. 
 His finger points out into space. 
 As though he sees it 'fore his face, 
 The candled chancel, bright with light. 
 The cowled Bishop and the Knight. 
 Half raised, these words he speaks: 
 
 "As e'en 
 The Black Knight takes the White King's Queen, 
 And Bishop then, to end the play. 
 With black-robed priests and grand array, 
 In candled chancel, sealed by Fate 
 And cowled pomp, declarfe 'tis 'mate.' " 
 
 They bring him wine. He drinks it down, 
 But sees them not. His mind has gone 
 Back to that one and fateful night, 
 When first he saw the Knight in White, 
 
D almar , Daughter of the Mill 
 
 And sudden, left him has his pain. 
 Those happy days are back again. 
 Upon his feet, they help him rise, 
 And swaying, weak, the miller cries. 
 As though he were their merry host, 
 The oft spoke words of his fair toast : 
 
 "Then drink, lad, to the castle mill. 
 When night is here and all is still. 
 Ho for the time when eve doth bring 
 My realm ! For to-night I am a king." 
 
 Aye, lay him down and ease his head. 
 Farewell, thou Miller-King ! He's dead. 
 
 There dwells within a castle fair, 
 A lady sweet, with nut-brown hair. 
 Fair Dalmar of iDe Guise is she. 
 Far-famed of chivalry is she. 
 And bards that sing of those fine days 
 Oft tell the exploits of De Guise. 
 
 As for the dwarf, when they had sought, 
 With eyes fixed on the mill-yard court, 
 They found him standing, bowed his head, 
 His hands grasped o'er the sill, — and dead. 
 The miller was revenged indeed. 
 No earthly hand had wrought the deed. 
 
 The creaking millwheel, iron bound, 
 
Dal mar. Daughter of the Mill 
 
 Hath long ceased turning 'round and 'round. 
 The rambling, rustic, castle mill 
 Doth stand, vine decked, in silence, still. 
 And o'er the latch lock, shining bright. 
 Some knowing soul did laughing write, 
 From scrolled hinge, till latch begins, 
 This legend scrawl, 
 
 "THE BLACK KNIGHT WINS." 
 
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