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LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.
And said I that my limbs were old,
And that I might not sing of love ?—
So foul, so false a recreant prove 1
How could I name love's very name,
In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed;
In halls, in gay attire is seen;
In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween,
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray,
Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay;
His armour red with many a stain:
For it was William of Deloraine.
But no whit weary did he seem,
Few were the words, and stern and high,