Oh, why should Hymen ever blight Or why should it be ever night Or why should women have a tongue, In being, like my Second, long, "You blackguard!" cries the rural wench, My lady screams, Ah, bête!" And Lady Thrifty scolds in French, Till both their Lords my Second try, Sir Thrifty hath the means to die, XV. LORD ROLAND by the gay torchlight IIe broached my First, that jovial knight, And pledged his vassals tall; The red stream went from wood to can, And the deuce a man knew how it ran, "Let the health go wide," Lord Ronald cried, As he saw the river flow—— "One cup to-night to the noblest Bride, And one to the stoutest foe!" Lord Ronald kneeled, when the morning came, Low in his mistress' bower; And she gave him my Second, that beauteous dame, For a spell in danger's hour: Her silver shears were not at hand; And "Ride, and ride," Lord Ronald cried, Must beard the stoutest Foe!" Lord Ronald stood, when the day shone fair, In his garb of glittering mail; And marked how my Whole was crumbling there With the battle's iron hail: The bastion and the battlement On many a craven crown, Like rocks from some huge mountain rent, Were trembling darkly down: "Whate'er betide," Lord Ronald cried, As he bade his trumpets blow"I shall win to-day the noblest Bride, Or fall by the stoutest Foe!" XVI. I GRACED Don Pedro's revelry, And this that gallant Spaniard did, He vowed a vow, that noble knight, To make his only sport the fight, To ride through mountains, where my First XVII. He talked of daggers and of darts, Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts, Of kisses and of chains; He said, though love was kin to grief, But still the lady shook her head, He said, my First-whose silent car And then he set a cypress wreath And drew his rapier from its sheath, But still the lady shook her head, |