With a glee-maid young and fair,
If mayhap their merry voices
Would beguile thy weary care.”
“Hawk may sleep, and hound may slumber,
My impatient steed must wait,
Nor care I to hear the minstrel
Who is resting at the gate.
“E’en the keen breeze of the mountains
Would not cool my fevered brow,
E’en the shrill note of the trumpet