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Rosalind.
"Rose of roses, I love thee more—
More than the tenderest words can say.
More than the tenderest words can say.
"Though I seem but a shepherd lad,
Down from a stately race I came;
In silks and jewels I'll have thee clad,
And Lady of Heron shall be thy name."
Down from a stately race I came;
In silks and jewels I'll have thee clad,
And Lady of Heron shall be thy name."
Rosalind blushed a rosy red,
Turned as pale as the hawthorn's blow,
Folded her kirtle over her head,
And sped away like a startled doe.
Turned as pale as the hawthorn's blow,
Folded her kirtle over her head,
And sped away like a startled doe.
"Rose of roses, come back to me!
Leave me never!" Lord Heron cried,—
"Never!" echoed from hill and lea,
"Never!" the lonely cliffs replied.
Leave me never!" Lord Heron cried,—
"Never!" echoed from hill and lea,
"Never!" the lonely cliffs replied.
Loud he mourned a year and a day,
But Lady Alice was fair to see;
The bright sun blesses his bridal day,
And the castle-bells ring merrily.
But Lady Alice was fair to see;
The bright sun blesses his bridal day,
And the castle-bells ring merrily.
Over the moors, like a rolling knell,
Rosalind hears them slowly peal;
Low she mourned—"I loved him well,—
Better I loved his mortal weal.
Rosalind hears them slowly peal;
Low she mourned—"I loved him well,—
Better I loved his mortal weal.
