To yon lone isle, our desert home;
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn, a couch[54] was pull’d for you;
On yonder mountain’s purple head
Have ptarmigan[55] and heath cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere,[56]
To furnish forth your evening cheer.”—
“Now, by the rood,[57] my lovely maid,
Your courtesy has err’d,” he said;
“No right have I to claim, misplaced,