THE

LAY

OF

THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO THIRD.

THE

T

LAY

OF

THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO THIRD.

I.

AND said I that my limbs were old,
And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,

And my poor wither'd heart was dead,

And that I might not sing of love?— How could I to the dearest theme, That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream,

So foul, so false a recreant prove!

How could I name Love's very name,

Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!

II.

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.

III.

So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween,
While, pondering deep the tender scene,
He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green.
But the Page shouted wild and shrill―
And scarce his helmet could he don,
When downward from the shady hill
A stately knight came pricking on.