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"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,

That wont on harp to stray,

A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,

To keep the cold away."

"O Richard! if my brother died,

'Twas but a fatal chance;

For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.

I wear,

"If pall and vair no more
Nor thou the crimson sheen,

As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray,
As gay the forest-green.

"And, Richard, if our lot be hard,

And lost thy native land,

Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand."



Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood;
So blithe Lady Alice is singing;

On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,

Who 'woned within the hill,

Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.




"Why sounds
yon stroke on beech and oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?

Or who may dare on wold to wear
The 'fairies' fatal green?


"Up, Urgan, up to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christened man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,

For muttered word or ban.

“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye;

Till he wish and pray that his life would part,
Nor yet find leave to die."



"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing;
The evening blaze doth Alice raise, word.
And Richard is fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,

And, as he crossed and blessed himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
"That is made with bloody hands."

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But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear, -
"And if there's blood upon his hand,
'Tis but the blood of deer."

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"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!

It cleaves unto his hand,

The stain of thine own kindly blood,

The blood of Ethert Brand.' 99

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign,

"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, demon elf, By Him whom demons fear,

To show us whence thou art thyself,


And what thine errand here?" what did


ou come here. fav.


""Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land,

When fairy birds are singing,

When the court doth ride by their monarch's side,

With bit and bridle ringing:

And gayly shines the Fairy-land

But all is glistening show,

Like the idle gleam that December's beam

Can dart on ice and snow.

"And fading, like that varied gleam,

Is our inconstant shape,

Who now like knight and lady seem,

And now like dwarf and ape.



"It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power,


That I sunk down in a sinful fray, fight
And 'twixt life and death was snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower.

To the joy


"But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow °durst sign,

I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.”

She crossed him once- - she crossed him twice

That lady was so brave;

The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;

He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing,

But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray,
When all the bells were ringing.


Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed,
A stranger climbed the steepy glade;
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting-suit of Lincoln green,
His eagle glance, remembrance claims-



'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream:


"O stranger! in such hour of fear

What evil hap has brought thee here?"

"An evil hap how can it be

That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning-tide,
And marshalled over bank and 'bourne
The happy path of my return."

"The happy path!-what! said he naught
Of war, of battle to be fought,

Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could 'augur scathe."
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern:
Yonder his tartans I discern;

Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been 'bribed, by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here."

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"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath

When love or honor's weighed with death
Then let me profit by my chance,

And speak my purpose bold at once.
I come to bear thee from a wild

Where ne'er 'before such blossom smiled,




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