For any knight the fair could see.
And sing the Hawk of pinion gray,[[C]]
To southern climes who winged his way,
For he could speak as well as fly;
Her brethren how the fair beguiled,
And on her Scottish lover smiled,
As slow she raised her languid eye.
Fair was her cheek's carnation glow,
Like red blood on a wreath of snow;
Like evening's dewy star her eye: