November's hail-cloud drifts away, <br />November's sunbeam wan <br />Looks coldly on the castle grey, <br />When forth comes Lady Anne. <br />The orphan by the oak was set, <br />Her arms, her feet, were bare; <br />The hail drops had not melted yet, <br />Amid her raven hair. <br />'And, dame,' she said, 'by all the ties <br />That child and mother know, <br />Aid one who never knew these joys, <br />Relieve an orphan's woe.' <br />The lady said, 'An orphan's state <br />Is hard and sad to bear; <br />Yet worse the widow'd mother's fate <br />Who mourns both lord and heir. <br />'Twelve times the rolling year has sped, <br />Since, when from vengeance wild <br />Of fierce Strathallan's Chief I fled <br />Forth's eddies whelm'd my child.' <br />'Twelve times the year its course has borne,' <br />The wandering maid replied; <br />'Since fishers on Saint Bridget's morn <br />Drew nets on Campsie side. <br />'Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil; <br />An infant, wellnigh dead, <br />They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, <br />To beg from you her bred.' <br />That orphan maid the lady kiss'd,-— <br />'My husband's looks you bear; <br />Saint Bridget and her morn be bless'd! <br />You are his widow's heir.' <br />They've robed that maid, so poor and pale <br />In silk and sandals rare; <br />And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, <br />Are glistening in her hair.<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-orphan-maid/
