At evening often it happens yet,
When the rest of our night is free,
That a veteran old from the war is met,
And we chat about Ynel of Bree.
Though sullen the man may have been before,
More kindly his face now grows,
And his gray moustache doth a curl come o'er,
And smile on his visage grows.
He thinks how oft from the battle-plain,
or from long-day's travel incur
And wearied, came he a pint to drain,
in the Prancing Pony with her.
And did youth and beauty still round her shape?
While she reckoned of years one more
yet, who could from her clutches escape?
When blossoms her springtime wore.
She still was pretty. You scarce could find
A lip or cheek so fair;
And many a man had gazed himself blind
On her blue eyes' radiance rare.
But beauty yet, though in other ways,
To a warrior's thought she bore,
And often still she was named with praise,
Often though, she was known as a *****.
For a pearl on the parths of the world was she,
And a pearl all genuine too;
Though sometimes laughable she might be,
More oft was honor her due.
She loved all life, whatsoe'er it brought, -
If weal, woe, trouble or cheer;
And the grey-clad boys had her tenderest thought,
And so she to us was dear.
And the dear young soldiers' heroic mood
she loved in it's full display,
And thought, howe'er near to the strife she stood,
That she was not nearer than they!
Now listen kindly, and hear my lay,
For ne'er did I see her again:
'Twas ended, - Kingsfell's faitful day, -
And we were retreating then.
And she was downcast, although full oft
With laugh she dissembled yet;
She mourned for the brave boy's woe, and she laughed,
And her fair white cheek it was red.
Then came, aproaching her, where she stood,
An arrogant young dragoon;
His glance revealed a presumptuous mood,
And of self resounded his tone:
"Put out!" he ordered, "Nor fearful blink!
To-night I will pay the bill;
For I have silver, you hear it clink,
And friends I can touch at will!"
A glance of disdain at the snob she sent:
"Very well, I've measured your way;
For a needy mother to war you went,
But how much have you fought this day?"
"And had you of treasures your knapsacks full,
And could draw them from seas o'errun,
Despite your gold not a lace I'd pull,
By gods, for so base a son!"
And at her side she but clenched her fist,
In her wonted manner so queer;
And the rich young stormer did not persist
In trying to come more near.
But by the roadside, not far away,
A youth was sitting alone;
On him did her pitying glances stray
Like the mildest of starlight known.
Upon his turned she her eyes anon,
So mother-like, warm and kind,
As if every grace of creation's drawn
were only for him designed.
It is long ago since I saw her face,
Yet doth she in my memory dwell;
And the woman's story I gladly retrace,
And all she has merited well.
For a pearl on the parths of the world was she,
And a pearl all genuine too;
Though sometimes laughable she might be,
More oft was honor her due.
~ By an Eriador poet who wishes to remain anonymous.
