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"If pall and vair no more I wear,
As warm we'll say is the russet gray,
"And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
And he his Alice Brand."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing,
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing.
Up spoke the moody elfin king,
Who wonn'd within the hill
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill.
"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen,
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Or who may dare on wold to wear,
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye,
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, Though the birds have still'd their singing, The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf
But as he cross'd and bless'd himself,
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand-
"And if there's blood upon
'Tis but the blood of deer."
"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand.”
Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,
"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
"And I conjure thee, demon elf,
By Him whom demons fear,
"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in fairy land, When fairy birds are singing,
When the court doth ride by their monarch's side,
With bit and bridle ringing.
"And gaily shines the fairy land
But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December's beam
Can dart on ice and snow.
"And fading like that various gleam,
Who now like knight and lady seem,
"It was between the night and day,
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away,
"But wist I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine."
She cross'd him once, she cross'd him twice,
That lady was so brave,
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.
She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold,
The fairest knight on Scottish mould.
Merry it is in the good green wood,
When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.
Song of the Owl..
TU-WHOO! Tu-whoo! In my
In my old gray turret high,
Where the ivy waves o'er the crumbling wall,
A king-a king reign I!
I wake the woods with my startling call
The gadding vines in the chinks that grow,
Come clambering up to me;
And the newt, the bat, and the toad, I trow,
Oh, the coffin'd dead, in their cells below,
Let them joy in their brilliant sun-lit skies,
But how softer far than the tints they prize
Ob, a weary thing to an owlet's eyes
When the sweet dew sleeps on the winding pool, Some tall tree-top I win;
And the toad leaps up on her throne-shaped stool, And our revels loud begin.
While the bull-frog croaks o'er his stagnant pool, Or plunges sportive in.
As the last lone ray from the hamlet fades
The night-bird sings in the cloister shades,
And fairies trip o'er the broad green glades
Tu-whoo! Tu-whoo!-All the livelong night,
While the starry ones from their jewell'd height
They may bask who will in the noonday light;