4
O tell me, father, tell me true,
If you have chanc’d to see
A gentle maid I lately left
Beneath some neighbouring tree.
But either I have lost the place,
Or she has gone astray:
And much I fear this fatal stream
Has snatch’d her hence away.
Praise Heaven, my son, the hermit said,
The lady’s safe and well:
And soon he join’d the wandering youth,
And brought him to his cell.
Then well was seen these gentle friends,
They lov’d each other dear:
The youth he press’d her to his heart;
The maid let fall a tear.
Ah! seldom had their host, I ween,
Beheld so sweet a pair:
The youth was tall, with manly bloom,
She, slender, soft, and fair.
The youth was clad in forest green,
With bugle-horn so bright:
She in a silken robe and scarf,
Snatch’d up in hasty flight.
Sit down, my children, says the sage;
Sweet rest your limbs require:
Then heaps fresh fuel on the hearth,
And mends his little fire.
Partake, he said, my simple store,
Dried fruits, and milk, and curds;
And spreading all upon the board,
Invites with kindly words.
Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare,
The youthful couple say;
Then freely ate, and made good cheer,
And talk’d their cares away.
Now say, my children (for perchance
My counsel may avail)
What strange adventure brought you here
Within this lonely dale?
First tell me, father, said the youth,
Nor blame mine eager tongue)
What town is here? What lands are these
And to what lord belong?
