For he had slain in tournay set
  Full many a blazoned fool;
Nor would he deem his praise complete
  Till he had slain a bull. 
He threw the gauntlet at the brute,
  Which was received with scorn,
For Taurus straight the gauntlet took,
Then in the air the bauble shook,
  And tossed it on his horn.

To fight they went with might and main,
  And fought a good long hour;
The knight’s long lance was broke in twain—­
  Sir Bull had now the power;
The ladies laughed, the barons too,
  As they Sir Bull admired! 
But where fair ladies are to view,
Who may declare what knight may do,
  By noble emprise fired?

The knight he paused amid the claque,
  And threw a look of scorn: 
Sir Bull has Bullstrode on his back,
  Who held by either horn;
And round the ring, and round the ring,
  Rushed bull in wild affray,
Stamping, roaring, bellowing,—­
And, stumbling, gave his neck a wring,
  And Bullstrode won the day.

This valiant knight, by love inspired,
  Next sued fair Katharine,
The daughter of Sir Ravensbeard,
  A man of ancient line;
And he had known the reason good
  Sir Bullstrode got his name,
And wished—­if Kate could be subdued—­
To mix his blue and blazoned blood
  With one of such a fame.

II.

But when the knights are thus employeed,
  The lady is in yon glen,
There seated by the river side
  With one, the flower of men—­
George Allan—­a rich yeoman’s heir,
  Who leased her father’s land. 
Yet, though beloved by all the fair,
Young Allan might not surely dare
  To claim this envied hand.

Yet hearts will work, and hearts will steal
  What high commands deny;
And beauty is a thing to feel,
  Self-chosen by the eye: 
Nor would fair Katharine had gi’en
  A touch of Allan’s hand
For all the honours she could gain
From duke or earl, lord or thane,
  Or knight in all the land.

She knew the price she had to pay
  For this her secret love;
But where’s a will there is a way,
  And Kate she would it prove. 
The will we know, the way’s obscure,
  Deep in her soul confined;
What quick invention might secure,
With love for the inspiring power,
  Was in that maiden’s mind.

“Now, Allan,” she said, with a silent laugh,
  In eyes both quaint and keen,
“Thou must not fear, for here I swear
  By Coz.  Saint Catharine,
’Twas easier for this doughty knight
  To hold these horns he dared,
Than take for wife by a father’s right,
Against the spurn of a maiden’s spite,
  The daughter of Ravensbeard.”

“No, no, fair lady,” George Allan said—­
  With tears his eyes were full—­
“’Tis easier to force the will of a maid,
  Than hold by the horns a bull.” 
“Yes! yes! of the maids who say a prayer,
  Like sisters of orders grey;
But Kate admits no craven fear,
And she can do what they cannot dare,
  For she’s quicker of parts than they.”