But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast prayed,
And wedded fast were we.
Her mother smiled upon her bed
As at its side we knelt to wed,
And the bride rose from her knee
And kissed the smile of her mother dead,
Or ever she kissed me.
"My page, my page, what grieves thee so,
That the tears run down thy face?"—
"Alas, alas! mine own sister