Here the boy's eyes glistened, and a tremulous motion of the lip showed how his heart bounded at the word.
"Prythee, give us the song thou wast conning yesterday."
The page began with a low prelude, but was again interrupted.
"Nay, 'tis not thus. Give me that wild love-ditty thou knowest so well. I did use to bid thee be silent when thou wouldest have worried mine ears with it. But in sooth the morning looks so languishing and tender that it constrains the bosom, I verily think, to its own softness."
The page seemed to throw his whole soul into the wild melody which followed this request. We give it, with a few verbal alterations, as follows:—
SONG.
1.
Fair star, that beamest
In my ladye's bower,
Pale ray, that streamest
In her lonely tower;
Bright cloud, when like the eye of Heaven
Floating in depths of azure light,
Let me but on her beauty gaze
Like ye unchidden. Day and night
I'd watch, till no intruding rays
Should bless my sight.
2.
Fond breeze, that rovest
Where my ladye strays,
Odours thou lovest
Wafting to her praise;
Lone brook, that with soft music bubblest,
Chaining her soul to harmony;
Let me but round her presence steal
Like ye unseen, a breath I'd be,
Content none other joy to feel
Than circling thee!