THE REIVER
113
But never looks she right nor left beneath these ardent skies,
At hawthorn thick with bloom and bees; for to her staring eyes
Across that beaten trail of white a gibbet's shadow lies.
At hawthorn thick with bloom and bees; for to her staring eyes
Across that beaten trail of white a gibbet's shadow lies.
The gossips at St. James's had a pungent tale last year—
'Twas whispered loud in anteroom, and low to sovereign's ear,
And rolled as morsel on the tongue of ladies sour and sere:
'Twas whispered loud in anteroom, and low to sovereign's ear,
And rolled as morsel on the tongue of ladies sour and sere:
The highwayman had snatched, they said, my lady from my lord,
And ta'en her to some mountain glen to share his bed and board.
They tracked his silver stallion's hoofs by pool and fen and sward.
And ta'en her to some mountain glen to share his bed and board.
They tracked his silver stallion's hoofs by pool and fen and sward.
The King sent down his redcoat men to bring my lady home.
The Court were chattering for a week, like all the geese in Rome;
The priest had shrived my lady till her soul was white as foam.
The Court were chattering for a week, like all the geese in Rome;
The priest had shrived my lady till her soul was white as foam.
They seized the madcap highwayman, and, ere they swung him high
Above the breaking hawthorn buds that laughed towards the sky,
They asked him would he pardon crave before he came to die.
Above the breaking hawthorn buds that laughed towards the sky,
They asked him would he pardon crave before he came to die.
