"
Sir Middel he heard her, and sprang from his bed;
Not knowing her voice, in confusion he said,
"Away: for I have neither candle nor light,
And I swear that no mortal shall enter this night!"
"Now busk ye, Sir Middel, in Christ's holy name;
I fly from my mother, who knows of my shame;
She'll hang thee up; yes, she will hang thee with scorn,
And burn me to ashes, at breaking of morn."
"Ha! laugh at her threat'nings, so empty and wild;
She neither shall hang me, nor burn thee, my child:
Collect what is precious, in jewels and garb,
And I'll to the stable and saddle my barb."
He gave her the cloak, that he us'd at his need,
And he lifted her up, on the broad-bosom'd steed.
The forest is gain'd, and the city is past,
When her eyes to the heaven she wistfully cast.
"What ails thee, dear maid? we had better now stay,
For thou art fatigu'd by the length of the way."
"I am not fatigu'd by the length of the way;
But my seat is uneasy, in truth, I must say."
He spread, on the cold earth, his mantle so wide;
"Now rest thee, my love, and I'll watch by thy side.
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