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THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE.
165
V.How vain is thy scorn, Ethel Lee! He has snatched thee from sorrow and death; Thy pale cheek is warm with his breath;His steed gallops fleetly and free. "Ho! my mother, make ready!" he saith; So a merry, brave wedding he hath!All the bells laugh aloud in their glee At sweet Ethel's return;And she smiles by the hearth where the scarlet flowers blossom and burn!
