THE WOLF AND THE LAMB
105
But Fate in an evil mood let slip
A rolling stone
In the steed's swift way, and it ran to trip
The frightened roan.
She leaned from the bush, all sore afraid
At the tumult there,
Her dimpled face, poor little maid.
And shining hair.
He stayed to woo and his love to tell
For an idle day,
Opened the gates of Heaven—of Hell—
Then rode away.
With a smile and a jest for his time delayed,
He came to town—
In the lake's deep heart, poor little maid.
She laid her down.
And I, who heard the tale retold,
Still wondering wait
Will the man some time, a thousandfold.
Repent her fate?
But he laughs to-day with his sin unpaid.
And she sleeping lies—
So white, so still—poor little maid,
She had sweet eyes.
