The Lass of Roch Royal, or, Lord Gregory
It was a wild, stormy night, many years ago since now, when a fair-haired young girl knocked on the gate of the Roch Royal Castle. Her clothes were soaking wet[1] with rain; her large, sad eyes were moist with tears; and in her arms there was a bundle containing a small baby.
“I am a poor young girl that came from Cappoquin[2],” she cried, “I’m in search of Lord Gregory, pray God I’ll find him! The rain beats my yellow locks and the dew wets me still. Besides, my child is cold and shivering in my arms. Lord Gregory, let me in!”
A window-shutter clanged high above her, and a rough female voice shouted:
“Lord Gregory is not here and henceforth can’t be seen, as he is gone to bonny Scotland to bring home his new wife. So leave now these windows and likewise this castle, for it is deep in the sea you should hide your downfall.”
“But who will shoe my baby’s little feet?” the girl moaned, in despair. “Who will put gloves on her hands? Who will put a long linen band around her waist? Who will comb her yellow hair with an ivory comb? Who will be her father till Lord Gregory comes home?”
But there was no answer; the gates remained shut.
“Do you recall, darling Gregory,” the unfortunate lass continued, her voice breaking with sorrow, “that night in Cappoquin, when we exchanged pocket handkerchiefs, and, as for me, it was against my will? Your handkerchief was pure linen, love, and mine just coarse cloth, for yours cost a guinea, and mine but a penny? Do you remember, love Gregory, that night in Cappoquin, when we exchanged rings on our fingers, and me—against my will? For yours was pure silver, and as for mine, it was simple tin, for your ring cost a guinea, and mine but one cent. But Lord Gregory, I’m standing at your door now, with your child in my hands. Pray, open to me, let me it, let us get warm and merry again by your heat! I beg you to show some mercy at least, if I’m denied your love!”
No sound came from within the castle; only the storm and the sea waves united to turn the night into the chaos of the elements[3].
The girl raised her eyes, trying to catch a glimpse[4] of some movement behind the windows, but could only see the streams of heavy rain, a lightning, and the sky, cracked from side to side[5]. As for the hall behind the gate, nothing seemed to stir inside.
The poor lass was desperate. There was a boat waiting for her in the nearby bay; and it was there she turned, still holding the child in her arms. She set the sail[6], and the boat pulled out, a mere chip in the terrible storm. Soon it could not be seen anymore behind the thick veil of the shower.
A few hours later, nevertheless, the storm subsided. Morning came fresh and clean, with the autumn sun shining from behind the light mist. The sea waves looked tamed now; but no sign of the night visitation were there to find.
Soon after waking up, the young Lord Gregory went to tell his mother of the weird dream he saw that night.
“You told me to get back to bed, mother, but I was sure I heard a female voice, young, melodic and sorrowful, at our gates.”
“Oh my foolish son!” the old lady exclaimed, “There was no one at night. I told you to sleep on and bother yourself not.”
“You deceive me, mother!” young lord protested. “I dreamt of the lass I love who came here, bearing my child in her white, slender arms.”
“My son, this was but a beggar who foolishly claimed to be your wife. What she wanted was to deceive you, to bind you with the bounds of the promise you aren’t obliged to keep. I told her to get away and to
