ZU DER EDLEN YAGD.
23
FYTTE III.
ZU DER EDLEN YAGD.
[A TREATISE ON TREES—VINE-TREE v. SADDLE-TREE.]
“Now, welcome, welcome, masters mine,
Thrice welcome to the noble chase,
Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,
Can take such honourable place.”—
Ballad of the Wild Huntsman.
(Free Translation.)
Thrice welcome to the noble chase,
Nor earthly sport, nor sport divine,
Can take such honourable place.”—
Ballad of the Wild Huntsman.
(Free Translation.)
I remember some words my father said,
When I was an urchin vain;—
God rest his soul, in his narrow bed
These ten long years he hath lain.
When I think one drop of the blood he bore
This faint heart surely must hold,
It may be my fancy and nothing more,
But the faint heart seemeth bold.
When I was an urchin vain;—
God rest his soul, in his narrow bed
These ten long years he hath lain.
When I think one drop of the blood he bore
This faint heart surely must hold,
It may be my fancy and nothing more,
But the faint heart seemeth bold.
