The maiden's face with grief was sad,

Her cheek was wet with tears; So the pale lily, besprent with rain, Or dew-dropt rose appears.

Part the Second.

AND now for many weeks and months
The baron he did stay,

Nor did he seek his dear lov'd maid
For many a livelong day.

And, though the tender sigh it cost,
And heartfelt tear did move,

Full many a month he stay'd away,
Her constancy to prove.

At length he called his knights and squires,
And neighbours of his degree,

To travel, in all the pomp of state,
The lovely maid to see.

And now, with gay and gallant train,
That baron took his way;

The golden sun that so high did shine
Did gild his pomp that day.

The maiden stood at her garden pale,
In hopes her love t'espy;
And every peasant that she saw,
She heaved a heartfelt sigh.

"Alas! and woe is me!" she cried,
"Could I my love but see!
I fear the stranger youth is dead,
Or thinks no more of me."

Thus sighed the maid, as o'er the plain
She look'd for her true love;

When sudden she saw the gallant train
Towards her cottage move.

And soon the baron hath cross'd the green; And smilingly he cried,

"Sweet maid, I've heard thy beauty's fame, And thou shalt be my bride.

"Rich robes of state shall deck thy frame, A coronet gild thy brow;

And a castle shalt thou have for dower,
With manors high and low."

The maiden but sigh'd at all his bribes,
Her faith they could not move;
For little she thought this gay baron
Could be her own true love.

Thus, though to gain the maiden's hand
This gallant baron strove,

Yet all his grandeur she despis'd,
For the youth that she did love.

And, though her angry mother tried
Her constant heart to move,

As vain were her mother's cruel threats
As the baron's golden love.

Part the Third.

NIGHT was come on, and o'er the plain
The moon's pale glimmering shone,
When the hapless maiden took her way,
All friendless and alone :-

All helpless and alone she sped,
And sadly did she rove,
O'er many a hill and many a dale,
In search of her peasant love.

And now the pale, full moon was gone,
And stormy clouds did lower;
Her sighings added to the wind,
Her tears increas'd the shower.

And, though full loud the thunders roll'd,
And wet, wet pour'd the rain,
Yet still, in search of her lov'd youth,
She brav'd the stormy plain.

Rous'd with the warring of the storm,

The baron up arose;

And soon, in search of his beauteous maid, With anxious speed he goes.

But, lo! the hapless maid was gone
Through desarts wild to rove,-
Alas! all friendless and alone,-
In search of her true love.

Oh! then that baron griev'd full sore,
And his foot-page called he:
"Oh! bring me here my peasant garb,
As quick as ye can flee."

Oh! then rode forth this young baron,
O'er many a dreary way;
When, alas! all on the stormy plain
He saw the maiden lay.

O'ercome with toil, and spent with grief,
That hapless maid had fell:
The baron he wip'd his quivering brow,
While his heart it 'gan to swell.

He got him water from the brook,
And sprinkled o'er the maid;
But many a tear that from him fell
Lent most its saving aid.

Right glad he mark'd her struggling breath,

And blush reviving face,

While tender he welcom'd her to life,

With many a fond embrace.

"And art thou found, my own true love,

And art thou come," she said,

"Then blest be the night, and blest the hour, When from our cot I fled."

Thus spake the maid; and fast they rode
Through many a lonely way;

And she thought that to his humble cot
Her love would her convey.

But soon they reach'd the castle wall,
And came to the castle gate;
When, lo! the youth, without delay,
Rode boldly in thereat.

Thrice turn'd the maiden wan and pale,
And with fear her heart was moved,
When she saw the lordly baron was
The peasant youth she loved.

But blithe he cried,-"Cheer up, my fair;
Forgive my pride, I pray;

And, lo! for thy faith, thus nobly proved,
Be this thy bridal day.

"Although thou wast but a lowly maid,
Thou art now my countess gay;
Then, come, cheer up, my love so true,
For this is our bridal day.”

The wardens blew their sounding horns,
And their banners stream'd in air;
Their horns resounded o'er the dale;
The banners shone afar.

SIR CAULINE.

The First Part.

IN Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;

And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call hym Syr Cauline.

The kinge had a ladye to his daughter,
In fashyon she hath no peere;

And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.

Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye;

Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.

Till on a daye it so beffell,
Great dill to him was dight;

The maydens love removde his mynd,
To care-bed went the knighte.

One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye:

And aye! "but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye."

And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne:
"Where is Syr Cauline,

He sayes,

That is wont to serve the wyne?"

Then auns werde him a courteous knighte,
And fast his handes gan wringe:
"Sir Cauline is sicke, and like to dye
Without a good leechinge.”

"Fetche me downe my daughter deere,

She is a leeche fulle fine:

Goe take him doughe, and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red;
Loth I were him to tine."

Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye:

"O well," she sayth, "how doth my
"O sicke, thou fayr ladyè."

lorde?"

"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,

Never lye soe cowardlee;

For it is told in my father's halle,

You dye for love of mee."