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THE BALLAD OF ETHEL LEE.
165
V.
How vain is thy scorn, Ethel Lee!
He has snatched thee from sorrow and death;
Thy pale cheek is warm with his breath;
His steed gallops fleetly and free.
"Ho! my mother, make ready!" he saith;
So a merry, brave wedding he hath!
All the bells laugh aloud in their glee
At sweet Ethel's return;
And she smiles by the hearth where the scarlet flowers blossom and burn!
How vain is thy scorn, Ethel Lee!
He has snatched thee from sorrow and death;
Thy pale cheek is warm with his breath;
His steed gallops fleetly and free.
"Ho! my mother, make ready!" he saith;
So a merry, brave wedding he hath!
All the bells laugh aloud in their glee
At sweet Ethel's return;
And she smiles by the hearth where the scarlet flowers blossom and burn!
