The King’s head dropt upon his breast A moment, as it might be; ’T will be my dog, he thought, and said, “My faith I plight to thee.”
Then Walter took from next his heart A packet small and thin, “Now give you this to the Princess Anne, The Singing Leaves are therein.”
As the King rode in at his castle-gate, A maiden to meet him ran, And “Welcome, Father!” she laughed and cried Together, the Princess Anne.
“Lo, here the Singing Leaves,” quoth he, “And woe, but they cost me dear!” She took the packet, and the smile Deepened down beneath the tear.
It deepened down till it reached her heart, And then gushed up again, And lighted her tears as the sudden sun Transfigures the summer rain.
And the first Leaf, when it was opened, Sang: “I am Walter the page, And the songs I sing ’neath thy window Are my only heritage.”
And the second Leaf sang, “But in the land That is neither on earth nor sea, My lute and I are lords of more Than thrice this kingdom’s fee.”
And the third Leaf sang, “Be mine! Be mine!” And ever it sang, “Be mine!” Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter, And said, “I am thine, thine, thine!”
At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, At the second she turned aside, At the third, ’t was as if a lily flushed With a rose’s red heart’s tide.
“Good counsel gave the bird,” said she, “I have my hope thrice o’er, For they sing to my very heart,” she said, “And it sings to them evermore.”
She brought to him her beauty and truth, But and broad earldoms three, And he made her Queen of the broader lands He held of his lute in fee.
Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord Bids sound the festal trumpet’s call; He rises at the banquet board, And cries, ’mid the drunken revellers all: “Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!”
The butler hears the words with pain, The house’s oldest seneschal, Takes slow from its silken cloth again The drinking-glass of crystal tall; They call it the Luck of Edenhall.
Then said the Lord: “This glass to praise, Fill with red wine from Portugal!” The greybeard with trembling hand obeys; A purple light shines over all, It beams from the Luck of Edenhall.
Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light: “This glass of flashing crystal tall Gave to my sires the Fountain-Sprite; She wrote in it, _If this glass doth fall, Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!_