LADY CLARE.
I'll drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare,
Ere the priest dons his gown and the marriage-bells call;
While the bridemaidens ravel the snood from your hair,
And the bridegroom stands waiting your step in the hall!
I scorn you nor mourn you, nor praise nor reprove,
I drink to the lips that first wiled me to love;
But the lute of your love-tones no dearer shall be
Than the bound of the stag down the craggy ravine,
The cry of my sleuth hound, my horn winded free,
Upstarting the doe from her covert of green
The hawk you've unhooded plumes wing for the air:
I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
Ere the priest dons his gown and the marriage-bells call;
While the bridemaidens ravel the snood from your hair,
And the bridegroom stands waiting your step in the hall!
I scorn you nor mourn you, nor praise nor reprove,
I drink to the lips that first wiled me to love;
But the lute of your love-tones no dearer shall be
Than the bound of the stag down the craggy ravine,
The cry of my sleuth hound, my horn winded free,
Upstarting the doe from her covert of green
The hawk you've unhooded plumes wing for the air:
I drink a blithe bridal to you, Lady Clare!
