“Go, bring me Prince Harrold,” King Fergus cried,
His royal eyes sparkling with beams of joy,
“My daughter Malvina shall be his bride,
And Moray be freed from the Dane’s annoy.
Envoy to me hath King Sewyn sent,
And peace shall their bridal knot cement.”
But Harrold was gone and Malvina fair!
Yet a sharp-witted page could teach him where,
And quick spoke the boy; for the King had told
Such glad tidings, I ween, as made him bold.