Within thy bosom gently steal;
For sooth, sweet maid, I say again,
That all are doom’d Love’s power to feel.
“Why, Adam,” exclaimed the lady, as the minstrel concluded, “this is like a prophecy. What, dost thou really say that I must one day feel this fire thou talkest of? Trust me, old man, I am in love with thy sweet music, and thy sweet song; but for other love, I have never thought of any such, and thou art naughty, old man, to fill mine ears with that I would fain keep from having entrance there.”
“Nay, lady, say not so,” cried Adam of Gordon, earnestly; “thou knowest that love and war are my themes, and I cannot ope my lips, or touch my harp, but one or other must have way with me. How the subject came, I know not; but the verses were the extemporaneous effusion of my minstrel spirit.”
“Come, Hepborne,” whispered Assueton, “let us away; we may hear more of the lady’s secrets than consists with the honour of knights wilfully to listen to.”
“Nay, I could stay here for ever, Assueton,” replied Hepborne; “I am spell-bound. That ethereal creature, that [[37]]enchantress, hast chained me to the spot; and wouldst thou not wish to have more of that old man’s melody? Methought his verses might have gone home to thee as well as to the lady.”
“Pshaw,” said Assueton, turning away, “dost think that I may be affected by the drivelling song of an old dotard? Trust me, I laugh at these silly matters.”
“Laugh while thou mayest, then,” replied Hepborne; “thou mayst weep anon. Yet, as thou sayst, we do but ill to stand listening here. Let us away then.”
When they reached the spot where their horses were tied, they found that the esquire who guided them to the Castle had but just returned with Master Turnberry, the equerry, whose state sufficiently betrayed the manner in which he had been spending his evening, and showed that the sentinel had not guessed amiss regarding him. He came staggering and grumbling along.