They took up with care Sir Pall and Sir Bear,
To the city them they bore;
Beneath the skies in the greenwood lies
Sir Liden amid his gore.
To the earn and the owl and the beasts that prowl
Sir Liden’s corpse they left;
When that was said to his plighted maid
She died of sense bereft.
Had he paid heed to his mother’s rede,
And himself to the law address’d,
His brothers twain had remained unslain,
And their feud had been laid at rest.
In piteous mode wept Mettelil proud,
The death of her three sons bold:
“Woe’s me,” cried she, “That e’er my eyes
Should this sad hour behold.”
For Pall she wept sore, and still, still more
For Bear the good and brave;
But most of all for Sir Liden’s fall,
For he had no hallowed grave.
BELARDO’S WEDDING
From the banks, in morning’s beam,
Of Xarama, famous stream;
From the spot, or nigh it, where
It joins the Tagus broad and fair,
Sped Belardo, blithe and gay,
To receive the righteous pay
Of all the years of love he’d spent
In doubts, and fears, and discontent—
But happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his manifold pains.
Unto her village now he goes
The handsome Philis to espouse;
For now her father, kind and bland,
But late so stern, yields him her hand.
Now in his eyes the shepherd shows
The rapture in his breast that glows,
That after storm and hurricane
The heaven should look bright again.
How happy the shepherd who finally gains
The beautiful prize of his manifold pains.