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, Full slyly smiled the observant page, And gave the withered hand of age A goblet, crowned with mighty wine, The blood of Velez' scorched vine. And, while the big drop filled his eye, * Wood pigeon. The attending maidens smiled to see, Looked gaily back to them, and laughed. Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus his tale again began. |