He went up the hill as a man goeth to despair, slow and afraid; and when he reached the little wood in whose bosom the lake was enshrined, he paused and looked around.
Of this shall I sing, for so sad and piteous it is that my harp would fain soothe me from tears:
He looked into the deep wood green,
But nothing there did see;
He looked into the still water:
Beneath, all white, lay she.
He drew her from her cold, cold bed,
And kissed her cheek and chin;
Loosed from his neck his silken cloak,
To wrap her body in.
He took her up in his two arms—
His grief was deep and wild;
He knelt beside her on the sod,
And sorrowed like a child.
He blew three blasts upon his horn;
His men did make reply,
And came all quickly to his call,
Through brake and brier so high.
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