A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. He was stately, and young, and tall; And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, When the half sigh her swelling breast Against the silken riband pressed; When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of gold Where would you find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might compare! XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see You listen to my minstrelsy; Your waving locks ye backward throw, And sidelong bend your necks of snow :- Ye ween to hear a melting tale Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the Knight, with tender fire, To paint his faithful passion strove; Swore, he might at her feet expire, But never, never cease to love; And said that she would die a maid;- Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! Its lightness would my age reprove: XXXI. Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, And held his crested helm and spear: That Dwarf was scarcely an earthly man, If the tales were true that of him ran Through all the Border, far and near. He heard a voice cry, "Lost! lost! lost!" A leap, of thirty feet and three, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 'Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said— This elfish Dwarf with the Baron staid: Little he ate, and less he spoke, Nor mingled with the menial flock; And he of his service was full fain; An' it had not been his ministry. All, between Home and Hermitage, Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page. XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, And took with him this elfish Page, And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band Of the best that would ride at her command; The trysting place was Newark Lee. Wat of Harden came thither amain, And thither came John of Thirlestaine, And thither came William of Deloraine; And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page. XXXIV. 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. |