'Twas said, when the Baron a-hunting rode He heard a voice cry, "Lost! lost! lost!" A leap, of thirty feet and three, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed; 'Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said. This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; Little he ate, and less he spoke, Nor mingled with the menial flock: E And oft apart his arms he tossed, And often muttered, "Lost! lost! lost!" He was waspish, arch, and litherlie, But well lord Cranstoun served he: And he of his service was full fain; For once he had been ta'en or slain, An' it had not been his ministry. All, between Home and Hermitage, XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, And took with him this elvish Page, To Mary's chapel of the Lowes: For there, beside Our Ladye's lake, An offering he had sworn to make, And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band Of the best that would ride at her command; A The trysting place was Newark Lee. And thither came John of Thirlestaine, They were three hundred spears and three. And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIV. And now, in Branksome's good green wood, As under the aged oak he stood, The Baron's courser pricks his ears, As if a distant noise he hears. The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, And signs to the lovers to part and fly; No time was then to vow or sigh. Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, Flew like the startled cushat-dove:* The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein; WHILE thus he poured the lengthened tale, * Wood pigeon. The attending maidens smiled to see, How long, how deep, how zealously, Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus his tale again began. |