Tam Lin

Along about Janet’s thirteenth birthday, her mother took quite ill, and the trips to the nearby and pleasant Carterhaugh Wood ceased because of this. For five long years, Janet’s mother suffered, until she died on the eve of the eighteenth anniversary of Janet’s birth. The girl’s father, normally a cheerful and outgoing man, became nearly a recluse, mourning the passing of his wife. Janet mourned for her mother as well, but grieved just as much for her father, who, as days went by, refused food or drink and seemed to care little to live.

Now, Janet was nobly born and used to taking her own counsel; she resolved to bring her father some briar-roses, to remind him of happier times and of his daughter’s love. Also, she was brave and cared little for vague rumors of enchanted wells and their supernatural watchers, so a week after her mother’s death, she set out alone to Carterhagh and it’s Wood, to pick up briar-roses and her father’s spirits.

When she arrived at mid morning, the Wood was quiet and still, without birdsong, or the rustle of grass as a hare leapt from his hole, or the chattering of squirrels as they chased each other in play. This seemed strange, but Janet didn’t hesitate to enter, for she was young and headstrong, and of a mind to succeed in her task. After searching for an hour, though, she could find no rose to pluck. The brambles still stretched amongst the trees, but no bloom showed on the creeping vines. She searched until the sun was high overhead, and until she was deep in the forest. Finally, torn by the thorny hedges, hungry, tired (and lost), she discovered some large and fragrant roses on a prickly stand of briar, and gratefully pulled them from the thicket. As she turned to retrace her steps, she admired the flowers- soft, in full bloom, in every way perfect- and stumbled against something which caused her to drop her roses and look down, at herself, for her reflection was mirrored in the still waters of the well in Carterhaugh Wood.

She was still gazing down when she heard a soft sound behind her. Gathering her courage, she turned around to see a young man leading a saddled horse with one gloved hand, and holding her scattered roses with the other. "The petals here are dearly bought," he remarked, and so saying held out Janet’s lost gift to her bereaved father.

Haltingly, she took the flowers back, then looked into the stranger’s eyes, which seemed sad that he should have found her here. He let his horse’s reins slip to the ground, and his mount nuzzled on the forest floor in search of any grass that might grow under the trees. The stranger held out his hands, now empty, and Janet grasped them and walked into his embrace.