« ForrigeFortsæt »
The trysting place was Newark Lee.
Wat of Harden came thither amain,
And thither came John of Thirlestaine,
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page.
And now, in Branksome's good green wood,
As under the aged oak he stood,
The Baron's courser pricks his ears,
As if a distant noise he hears.
The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high,
And signs to the lovers to part and fly;
No time was then to vow or sigh.
Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove,
Flew like the startled cushat-dove:*
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein;
WHILE thus he poured the lengthened tale,
* Wood pigeon.
The attending maidens smiled to see,
The precious juice the Minstrel quaffed;
Looked gaily back to them and laughed.
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul;
A lighter, livelier prelude ran,
Ere thus his tale again began.