| |
| LOW spake the knight to the peasant-girl: | |
| “I tell thee sooth, I am belted earl; | |
| Fly with me from this garden small, | |
| And thou shalt sit in my castle’s hall; | |
| |
| “Thou shalt have pomp, and wealth, and pleasure, | 5 |
| Joys beyond thy fancy’s measure; | |
| Here with my sword and horse I stand, | |
| To bear thee away to my distant land. | |
| |
| “Take, thou fairest! this full-blown rose, | |
| A token of love that as ripely blows.” | 10 |
| With his glove of steel he plucked the token, | |
| But it fell from his gauntlet crushed and broken. | |
| |
| The maiden exclaimed, “Thou seest, sir knight, | |
| Thy fingers of iron can only smite; | |
| And, like the rose thou hast torn and scattered, | 15 |
| I in thy grasp should be wrecked and shattered.” | |
| |
| She trembled and blushed, and her glances fell; | |
| But she turned from the knight, and said, “Farewell!” | |
| “Not so,” he cried, “will I lose my prize; | |
| I heed not thy words, but I read thine eyes.” | 20 |
| |
| He lifted her up in his grasp of steel, | |
| And he mounted and spurred with furious heel; | |
| But her cry drew forth her hoary sire, | |
| Who snatched his bow from above the fire. | |
| |
| Swift from the valley the warrior fled, | 25 |
| Swifter the bolt of the crossbow sped; | |
| And the weight that pressed on the fleet-foot horse | |
| Was the living man, and the woman’s corse. | |
| |
| That morning the rose was bright of hue; | |
| That morning the maiden was fair to view; | 30 |
| But the evening sun its beauty shed | |
| On the withered leaves, and the maiden dead. | |
| |
