’Twas early in the morning tide,
The bells began to ring;
It was the monk of the shaven crown
Would neither read nor sing.
So stately strode he up the choir
Where the monks and nuns they stand,
Not one of them dared read or sing
For fear of his stalwart hand.
So they the Abbot pious and good
To a simple monk debased,
And they the Monk of the shaven crown
As Abbot o’er them placed.
And he the cloister held with might
Till thirty years were flown;
Then died as Abbot in mighty fame,
The Monk of the shaven crown.
THE CRUEL STEP-DAME
My father up of the country rode,
He thought to wed a lovely rose;
And there he met a laidly wife,
The source was she of all my woes.
The first night they together slept
She seemed to me a mother mild,
But ere a second night was past
She prov’d a step-dame fierce and wild.
I sat beside my father’s board,
I sported there with hound and pup,
And then to blast my blissful lot
My step-dame wild came striding up.
That God should make my lot so blest
My wicked step-dame could not bear;
She changed me to a sword so keen,
And bade me far and wide to fare.
By day I grac’d the side of the knight,
I hung the hero’s heart so near;
At night I lay beneath his head,
For his good sword he loved so dear.