The Foolish Old Man

A miller's daughter, as I heard tell—Sing heigh! but the maid was merry—Was loved by her father's man full well,His cheek was brown as a berry.

He made the grey mare fast to her stall,The red cow drove to the byre,Then he sought the old man in his hall,Where he sat before the fire.

Quoth he, “Old man, I have served you true,Full twenty years and over,Now your daughter's hand I do beg from youThat she wed her faithful lover.”

When the farmer heard the youth so speakThere was not reason in him,His anger like a storm did break,He feared he could not win him.

Cried he, “Rash youth, since you dare to nurseThis dream,—this secret wooing,If you should wed, may a father's curseBe your swift and sure undoing.

“My curse shall feed on your fields of corn,On your roof-tree make its nesting,Your wife shall wish your child unbornAs he pines on her sore heart resting.”

Now when this cruel oath he saidThe youth did chide him, crying,“Since I have neither field nor bedYour curse shall fall to dying.

“But if I had yon broad grass land,And there put roof and rafter,I vow revenge were to your handAnd you'd have all the laughter.”

“If that be so,” the old man cried,Unto the faithful lover,“Take you yon keep the wood beside,And me land that it doth cover.

“So my oath fall on land and lot,On house and home forever.Your wife shall pine on the cursed spot,I shall be beaten never!”

When thus he spoke in anger wild,The youth did stay him, saying,“Since I have neither wife nor childStill goes your curse delaying.

“But should I win for my true brideSome day your own fair daughter,Alack I not then your will deniedTo make a grievous slaughter.”

When the old man this tale did hear.He tried no more to stay him,He gave the youth his daughter dear.So that his curse might slay him.

All silent he for a year and a dayAll lone with his rage and sorrow,Then he spoke his wrath, “Too long I stay,I will seek their roof to-morrow.”

At dawn he sprang on his old grey mareAnd to their gate went speeding.Pale at the door stood his daughter fair,Her beauty was all exceeding.

Hushed in her arms was her son so dear,As though she feared to lose him—She laid the babe with a smile and a tearUpon her father's bosom.

“Now curse, if you will, our good roof-treeAnd all that doth lie under,But spare our child, so dear,” quoth she,“Or cleave my heart asunder.”

He had no curse for her piteous cry.But his long lone love confessing,With dim eyes raised to the morning sky.He gave—a father's blessing.