THE PILGRIM PRINCE.—BALLAD.
At blush of morn, the silver horn
Was loudly blown at the castle gate;
And, from the wall, the Seneschal
Saw there a weary pilgrim wait.
"What news—what news, thou stranger bold?
Thy looks are rough, thy raiment old!
And little does Lady Isabel care
To know how want and poverty fare."
"Ah let me straight that lady see,
For far I come from the North Country!"
"And who art thou, bold wight, I trow,
That would to Lady Isabel speak!"
"One who, long since shone as a prince,
And kiss'd her damask cheek:
But oh, my trusty sword has fail'd,
The cruel Paynim has prevail'd,
My lands are lost, my friends are few,
Trifles all, if my lady's true!"
"Poor prince! ah when did woman's truth,
Outlive the loss of lands and youth!"