15
All day o’er moss and moor they rode,
By many a lonely tower;
And ’twas the dew-fall of the night
Ere they drew near her bower.
Most drear and dark the castle seem'd,
That wont to shine so bright;
And long and loud Sir Bertram call’d
Ere he beheld a light.
At length her aged nurse arose,
With voice so shrill and clear;
What wight is this that calls so loud,
And knocks so boldly here?
’Tis Bertram calls, thy lady’s love,
Come from his bed of care:
All day I’ve ridden o’er moor- and moss
To see thy lady fair.
Now out, alas! (she loudly shriek’d)
Alas! how may this be?
For six long days are gone and past
Since she set out to thee.
Sad terror seiz’d Sir Bertram’s heart,
And ready was to fall;
When now the drawbridge was let down,
And gates were open’d all.
Six days, young knight, are past and gone
Since she set out to thee;
And sure, if no sad harm had happ’d,
Long since thou wouldst her see.
For when she heard thy grievous chance,
She tore her hair and cried,
Alas! I’ve slain the comeliest knight,
All through my foolish pride!
And now to atone for my sad fault,
And his dear health regain,
I’ll go myself, and nurse my love,
And soothe his bed of pain.
Then mounted she her milk-white steed
One morn at break of day;
And two tall yeomen went with her
To guard her on the way.
Sad terror smote Sir Bertram’s heart.
And grief o’erwhelm’d his mind;
Trust me, said he, I ne’er will rest
Till I thy lady find.
