Were they shepherds, who sat all day
On that brown mountain's side?
But neither staff nor dog had they,
Nor woolly flock to guide.
They were clothed in savage attire;
Their locks were dark and long;
And at each belt a weapon dire,
Like bandit-knife was hung.
One was a woman tall and fair;
A princess she might be
From her stately form and her features rare,
And her look of Majesty.
But, oh! she had a sullen frown,
A lip of cruel scorn;
As sweet tears never melted down
Her cheeks since she was born.
'Twas well she had no sceptre to wield,
No subject land to sway;
Fear might have made her vassals yield,
But love had been far away.