And, like tennis-ball by racket toss'd, A leap, of thirty feet and three, Made from the gorse this elfin shape, Distorted like some dwarfish ape, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd; 'Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. SE lessens marvel, it is said: This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; Little he ate, and less he spoke, Nor mingled with the menial flock: And often mutter'd "Lost! lost! lost!" All between Home and Hermitage, Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIII. OR the Baron went on pilgrimage, But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band Wat of Harden came thither amain, away. They burn'd the chapel for very rage, And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIV. ND now, in Branksome's good green wood, As under the aged oak he stood, The Baron's courser pricks his ears, As if a distant noise he hears. The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, HILE thus he pour'd the lengthen❜d tale, The Minstrel's voice began to fail : Full slyly smiled the observant Page, And gave the wither'd hand of age A goblet, crown'd with mighty wine, The blood of Velez' scorched vine. He raised the silver cup on high, And, while the big drop fill'd his eye, Pray'd God to bless the Duchess long, And all who cheer'd a son of song. The attending maidens smiled to see How long, how deep, how zealously, The precious juice the Minstrel quaff'd ; And he, embolden'd by the draught, Look'd gaily back to them, and laugh'd. The cordial nectar of the bowl Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus his tale again began. Canto Third. I. ND said I that my limbs were old, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither'd heart was dead, So foul, so false a recreant prove! II. N 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. |