IV.
Among the suitors of the land,
That sought fair Mena’s lily hand,
There was a dark-brown baron bold,
That dwelt secure in massive hold;
Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold,
For many a tale, the country round,
Their feet and tongues in terror bound.
’Twas said he practic’d gramarye,
And that in wild, tempestuous nights,
The lurid lightning one might see,
Flashing around his castle heights;
While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder,
Shaking the massive keep,
Would seem its rocky walls to sunder,
Then straightway forth would leap
A dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame,
And the black pall of night again
Enshroud the heaven’s starless steep.
This baron hath sworn a fearful oath,
‘By heav’n and all its saints,’
That be the ladye never so loth,
Despite of love’s restraints,
She yet shall deck his bed and board,
And gladly own him her liege lord.
Now, Holy Mother, shield her well,
From all the fiendish plots of hell.
For, well I ween, this baron bold,
His mightiest spells will not withhold.