And closed about, and made her fly,
And would not let her there remain,
And would not let her there remain,
“Alas! alas!” he gan to cry,
“Why will not death dispel my pain?
Alas! alas! would I could die
Now I have seen my love again.
Alas, that I must live, who fain
Would perish! for I dared not speak
To her, nor she to me. Ah, vain
Is life; alas! my heart will break!”
“Why will not death dispel my pain?
Alas! alas! would I could die
Now I have seen my love again.
Alas, that I must live, who fain
Would perish! for I dared not speak
To her, nor she to me. Ah, vain
Is life; alas! my heart will break!”
“But nay,” he cried at last, “not so:
I too shall wend, tide what betide,
Whither these gentle ladies go,
And learn the spot where they abide!”
He took his cloak and harp, and hied
Him forth, his harp upon his back,
Nor stock nor stone could turn aside
His footsteps from that beaten track,
I too shall wend, tide what betide,
Whither these gentle ladies go,
And learn the spot where they abide!”
He took his cloak and harp, and hied
Him forth, his harp upon his back,
Nor stock nor stone could turn aside
His footsteps from that beaten track,
[ 18 ]
