Bravely swelled his heart to see the moat of London glittering Round her mighty wall--they told him--two miles long! Then--he gasped as, echoing in by grim black Aldgate, Suddenly their shaggy nags were nodding through a throng:
Prentices in red and ray, marchaunts in their saffron, Aldermen in violets, and minstrels in white, Clerks in homely hoods of budge, and wives with crimson wimples, Thronging as to welcome him that happy summer night.
"Back," they cried, and "Clear the way," and caught the ringing bridle-reins: "Wait! the Watch is going by, this vigil of St. John!" Merrily laughed the chapmen then, reining their great white horses back, "When the pageant passes, lad, we'll up and follow on!"
There, as thick the crowd surged, beneath the blossomed ale-poles, Lifting up to Whittington a fair face afraid, Swept against his horse by a billow of madcap prentices, Hard against the stirrup breathed a green-gowned maid.
Swift he drew her up and up, and throned her there before him, High above the throng with her laughing April eyes, Like a Queen of Faërie on the great pack-saddle. "Hey!" laughed the chapmen, "the prentice wins the prize!"
"Whittington! Whittington! the world is all before you!" Blithely rang the bells and the steeples rocked and reeled! Then--he saw her eyes grow wide, and, all along by Leaden Hall, Drums rolled, earth shook, and shattering trumpets pealed.
Like a marching sunset, there, from Leaden Hall to Aldgate, Flared the crimson cressets--O, her brows were haloed then!-- Then the stirring steeds went by with all their mounted trumpeters, Then, in ringing harness, a thousand marching men.
Marching--marching--his heart and all the halberdiers, And his pulses throbbing with the throbbing of the drums; Marching--marching--his blood and all the burganets! "Look," she cried, "O, look," she cried, "and now the morrice comes!"
Dancing--dancing--her eyes and all the Lincoln Green, Robin Hood and Friar Tuck, dancing through the town! "Where is Marian?" Laughingly she turned to Richard Whittington. "Here," he said, and pointed to her own green gown.
Dancing--dancing--her heart and all the morrice-bells! Then there burst a mighty shout from thrice a thousand throats! Then, with all their bows bent, and sheaves of peacock arrows, Marched the tall archers in their white silk coats,