"'Yes, here I claim the praise,' she said, 'to constant matrons due,
Who keep the troth, that they have plight, so stedfastly and true;
For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright,
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night.'

"It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew,
He kneeled before The Moringer, and down his weapon threw;
'My oath and knightly faith are broke,' these were the words he said;
'Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head.

"The noble Moringer, he smiled, and then aloud did say,
'He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a day,
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair;
I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir.

"'The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old,
Whose faith were kept till term and tide so punctually were told.
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate,
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late.'"

There is also, in the rich field of German romance, another
edition of this story, which has been converted by M. Tieck (whose
labours of that kind have been so remarkable) into the subject of
one of his romantic dramas. It is, however, unnecessary to detail
it, as the present author adopted his idea of the tale chiefly
from the edition preserved in the mansion of Haighhall, of old the
mansion-house of the family of Braidshaigh, now possessed by their
descendants on the female side, the Earls of Balcarras. The story
greatly resembles that of the Noble Moringer, only there is no