THE FAITHLESS KNIGHT
It is a careless pretty may, down by yon river-
side;
Her face, the whole world's pleasure, she gladly
hath espied;
And tossing back her golden hair, her singing
echoes wide;
When gaily to the grassy shore a youthful
knight doth ride.
And vaulting from his courser, that stoops the
head to drink,
And greeting well this Maiden fair, by running
waters brink,
He throws about her slender neck a chain of
costly link:
Too courteous he for glamourie, as any may
might think.
All through the flowery meadows, in the
summer evening warm,
The rippling river murmurs low, the dancing
midges swarm;
But far away the pretty may, nor makes the
least alarm,
Sits firm on lofty saddle-bow, within the young
knight's arm.
Now months are come, and months are gone,
with sunshine, breeze, and rain;
The song on grassy river-shore you shall not
hear again;
The proud knight spurs at tournament, in
Germany or Spain,
Or sues in silken bow'r to melt some lady's
high disdain.
And thus in idle hour he dreams—"I've
wander'd east and west;
I've whisper'd love in many an ear, in earnest or
in jest;
That summer day—that pretty may—perhaps
she loved me best?
I recollect her face, methinks, more often than
the rest."
——Wm Allingham.