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legend of the border knight.
And onward they rode o'er burn, brae, and fell
Till they reached a small lonely woodland well;
And there seated by the fountain's green side
Was a blind minstrel and his youthful guide,—
As thus they halted on their weary way
The old man's head on the youth's shoulder lay.
"Help!—in our Lady's name," the younger cries,
"Help, for I fear my father dying lies!"
A glance, and the tale was told once more,
And all the old bard's trials and griefs were o'er.
On still they rode, and by the young knight's side,
The minstrel's son, the youthful Lyderick, rides.
And gently from the boy Sir Jasper drew
The tale of his wanderings wild and true.
Swiftly, as on they sped beneath the shade
Of the fair autumn woodland's tranquil glade;
And brightly shone the monarch of the day
On lance, and fluttering pennon fair and gay.—
Back from Sir Jasper's helmet it gleamed
With many a bright and radiant beam.
And the snowy plume in his golden crest,
Rich contrast to the azure scarf on his breast.
The minstrel's son, in garb of sylvan green
In striking contrast now to him was seen.—
His calm saddened brow and his saint like face,
His quiet mien and gentle youthful grace,
Till they reached a small lonely woodland well;
And there seated by the fountain's green side
Was a blind minstrel and his youthful guide,—
As thus they halted on their weary way
The old man's head on the youth's shoulder lay.
"Help!—in our Lady's name," the younger cries,
"Help, for I fear my father dying lies!"
A glance, and the tale was told once more,
And all the old bard's trials and griefs were o'er.
On still they rode, and by the young knight's side,
The minstrel's son, the youthful Lyderick, rides.
And gently from the boy Sir Jasper drew
The tale of his wanderings wild and true.
Swiftly, as on they sped beneath the shade
Of the fair autumn woodland's tranquil glade;
And brightly shone the monarch of the day
On lance, and fluttering pennon fair and gay.—
Back from Sir Jasper's helmet it gleamed
With many a bright and radiant beam.
And the snowy plume in his golden crest,
Rich contrast to the azure scarf on his breast.
The minstrel's son, in garb of sylvan green
In striking contrast now to him was seen.—
His calm saddened brow and his saint like face,
His quiet mien and gentle youthful grace,
