16
That night he spent in sorrow and care,
And with sad boding heart,
Or ere the dawning of the day,
His brother and he depart.
Now, brother, we’ll our ways divide
O’er Scottish hills to range:
Do thou go north, and I'll go west;
And all our dress we'll change.
Some Scottish carle hath seiz’d my love,
And borne her to his den;
And ne’er will I tread English ground
Till she’s restor’d again.
The brothers straight their paths divide
O’er Scottish hills to range;
And hide themselves in quaint disguise,
And oft their dress they change.
Sir Bertram clad in gown of grey,
Most like a palmer poor,
To halls and castles wanders round,
And begs from door to door.
Sometimes a minstrel’s garb he wears,
With pipes so sweet and shrill;
And wends to every tower and town,
O'er ev’ry dale and hill.
One day as he sat under a thorn,
All sunk in deep despair,
An aged pilgrim pass’d him by,
Who mark'd his face of care.
All minstrels yet that e’er I saw,
Are full of game and glee,
But thou art sad and woe-begone,
I marvel whence it be.
Father, I serve an aged lord,
Whose griefs afflict my mind,
His only child is stolen away,
And fain I would her find.
Cheer up, my son; perchance, he said,
Some tidings I may bear:
For oft when human hopes have fail’d,
Then heavenly comfort’s near.
Behind yon hills so steep and high,
Down in a lonely glen,
There stands a castle fair and strong,
Far from the abode of men.
