’Twas a right trusty page that gave them way,
And he landed them ’neath the greenwood tree,
Where tied to the oak was a courser grey;
Prince Harrold to saddle sprang merrily.
The fair Malvina behind him placed,
With snow-white arms her lover embraced.
The sun rose to welcome the bonny bride,
As they fled them straight to the Findhorn’s side;
But its stream was swollen and barred their flight,
And drove them for refuge to Dulsie’s height.