Oh, forth she went like a braw, braw bride
   To meet her winsome groom,
When she was aware of twa bonny birds
   Sat biggin’ in the broom.

The tane it built with the green, green moss,
   But and the bents sae fine,
And the tither wi’ a lock o’ lady’s hair
   Linked up wi’ siller twine.

’O whaur gat ye the green, green moss,
   O whaur the bents sae fine? 
And whaur gat ye the bonny broun hair
   That ance was tress o’ mine?’

‘We gat the moss fra’ the elditch aile,
   The bents fra’ the whinny muir,
And a fause knight threw us the bonny broun hair,
   To please his braw new fere.’

’Gae pull, gae pull the simmer leaves,
   And strew them saft o’er me;
My token’s tint, my love is fause,
   I’ll lay me doon and dee.’

1847.

THE YOUNG KNIGHT:  A PARABLE

A gay young knight in Burley stood,
Beside him pawed his steed so good,
His hands he wrung as he were wood
   With waiting for his love O!

’Oh, will she come, or will she stay,
Or will she waste the weary day
With fools who wish her far away,
   And hate her for her love O?’

But by there came a mighty boar,
His jowl and tushes red with gore,
And on his curled snout he bore
   A bracelet rich and rare O!

The knight he shrieked, he ran, he flew,
He searched the wild wood through and through,
But found nought save a mantle blue,
   Low rolled within the brake O!

He twined the wild briar, red and white,
Upon his head the garland dight,
The green leaves withered black as night,
   And burnt into his brain O!

A fire blazed up within his breast,
He mounted on an aimless quest,
He laid his virgin lance in rest,
   And through the forest drove O!

By Rhinefield and by Osmondsleigh,
Through leat and furze brake fast drove he,
Until he saw the homeless sea,
   That called with all its waves O!

He laughed aloud to hear the roar,
And rushed his horse adown the shore,
The deep surge rolled him o’er and o’er,
   And swept him down the tide O!

New Forest, July 12, 1847.

A NEW FOREST BALLAD

Oh she tripped over Ocknell plain,
   And down by Bradley Water;
And the fairest maid on the forest side
   Was Jane, the keeper’s daughter.

She went and went through the broad gray lawns
   As down the red sun sank,
And chill as the scent of a new-made grave
   The mist smelt cold and dank.

‘A token, a token!’ that fair maid cried,
   ’A token that bodes me sorrow;
For they that smell the grave by night
   Will see the corpse to-morrow.

’My own true love in Burley Walk
   Does hunt to-night, I fear;
And if he meet my father stern,
   His game may cost him dear.