“Though chill fall the night-dew thy scarlet dress o’er,
I dare not, O Mettie, fling open my door.”
“Since into thy bower thou lett’st me not come,
O let thy swains guide me, dear heart, to my home.”
“The night it is bright, and the moon sheds her ray,
Fair maid, thou wilt find without trouble thy way.
“The moon’s in the sky, and shines clear o’er the mead,
So back by thyself to thy chamber proceed.”
The maid, and the little brown messan her friend,
They home through the forest so lonely must wend.
And when to the gate of the castle she came,
Sir Peter was leaning against it his frame.
“Thrice welcome, thrice welcome, thou proud Mettelil,
Say where hast thou been in the night season still?”
“I walked out, my lord, by no mortal eye seen,
And I gathered the herbs both the blue and the green.
“The herbs I collected with diligent hand,
Which just at this season in fullest bloom stand.
“I stood in the meadows throughout the long night,
And harked to the nightingale’s song with delight.”