Margaret.
273
And on one bosom, side by side,
Lulled by the same rude song to rest,
Our hearts grew early to each other.
Lulled by the same rude song to rest,
Our hearts grew early to each other.
No scion of a race out-worn
By gilded vice or lordly sloth,
By peasants nursed, of warriors born,
She drew her glowing life from both.
No gentle bower maiden, she,—
Trained at her lady-mother's knee,
Into the slow-wrought tapestry
Weaving her youth,—but wild and free.
The shrill cliff-building echoes knew
Her voice by height and holt remote,
Following fast its silver clue
Like birds that mock another's note.
And light the mountain paths she trode,
And light her blooded palfrey rode,
Gladdest when gay winds at sport,
Set the green branches all astir,
Bowing and bending over her;
The bloodhounds chained in the castle court,
By gilded vice or lordly sloth,
By peasants nursed, of warriors born,
She drew her glowing life from both.
No gentle bower maiden, she,—
Trained at her lady-mother's knee,
Into the slow-wrought tapestry
Weaving her youth,—but wild and free.
The shrill cliff-building echoes knew
Her voice by height and holt remote,
Following fast its silver clue
Like birds that mock another's note.
And light the mountain paths she trode,
And light her blooded palfrey rode,
Gladdest when gay winds at sport,
Set the green branches all astir,
Bowing and bending over her;
The bloodhounds chained in the castle court,
