Hildegard.
But where would be the golden tresses,
With ribands bravely intertwined
And where the roses, that thy praises
Have opened like a Summer wind,
Wert thou, my love, my Knight, not here,
To make these empty beauties dear?
The Spring would never deck her train
In such a fair and winsome wise
Did she not seek by smiles to chain
The sun her royal lover’s eyes.
1876.
May Marian.
A BALLAD.
In our town there dwelt a maiden
Whom the folk called Marian;
In her narrow gabled casement
All day long she sat and span.
Till a gentleman came riding
Through our town one Summer day,
Spied May Marian at the casement,
Stole her silly heart away.
Then she up and left her spinning,
Laid aside her russet gown,
In a footboy’s cap and mantle
Followed him to London town.