6
Till the foundations of the mountains fail
My mansion with its arbour shall endure;
—The joy of them who till the fields of Swale,
And them who dwell among the woods of Ure."
Then home he went, and left the Hart, stone-dead,
With breathless nostrils stretch'd above the spring.
And soon the Knight perform'd what he had said,
The fame whereof through many a land did ring.
Ere thrice the moon into her port bad steer'd,
A cup of stone receiv'd the living well;
Three pillars of rude stone Sir Walter rear'd,
Asd built a house of pleasure in the dell.
And near the fountain, flowers of stature tall
With trailing plants and trees were intertwin'd,
Which soon composed a little sylvan hall,
A leafy shelter from the sun and wind.