100 "But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, She cross'd him once she cross'd him twice- The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. 105 She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; He rose beneath her hand 110 10 The fairest knight on Scottish mold, Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermeline gray When all the bells were ringing. EDMUND'S SONG (From Rokeby, 1812) CANTO III. XVI. O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 5 And as I rode by Dalton-hall, A Maiden on the castle wall CHORUS "O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, Than reign our English queen," "If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, 15 Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down? 20 And if thou canst that riddle read, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, CHORUS Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, 25 "I read you, by your bugle-horn, And by your palfrey good, 30 I read you for a Ranger sworn, His blast is heard at merry morn, CHORUS Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, 35 I would I were with Edmund there, 40 "With burnish'd brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold dragoon, That lists the tuck of drum," "I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum, CHORUS 45 "And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay, 50 Yet mickle must the maiden dare, "Maiden! a nameless life I lead, The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, And when I'm with my comrades met, 55 What once we were we all forget, 60 CHORUS "Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And you may gather garlands there SONG WEARY LOT IS THINE (From the same) CANTO III. XXVIII. "A weary lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 5 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A doublet of the Lincoln green,— 10 No more of me you knew. "This morn is merry June, I trow, But she shall bloom in winter snow, 15 He turn'd his charger as he spake, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 20 And adieu forever more." SONG ALLAN-A-DALE (From the same) CANTO III. XXX. Allan-a-Dale has no faggots for burning, Allan-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Allan-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allan-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 5 Come, read me my riddle! come, harken my tale! And tell me the craft of bold Allan-a-Dale. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 10 The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame; Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Allan-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; 15 Allan-a-Dale is no baron or lord, Yet twenty tall yeoman will draw at his word; Allan-a-Dale to his wooing is come; 66 20 The mother, she ask'd of his household and home: Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allan, "shows gallanter still; 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, And with all its bright spangles!" said Allan-a Dale. 25 The father was steel, and the mother was stone; They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry: He has laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 30 And the youth it was told by was Allan-a-Dale! SONG THE CAVALIER (From the same) CANTO V. XX While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, My true love has mounted his steed and away, |