53
The wild birds told their warbling tale,
And wakened every flower that blows;
And peeped forth the violet pale,
And spread her breast the mountain rose:
And lovelier than the rose so red,
Yet paler than the violet pale,
She early left her sleepless bed,
The fairest maid of Teviotdale.
And wakened every flower that blows;
And peeped forth the violet pale,
And spread her breast the mountain rose:
And lovelier than the rose so red,
Yet paler than the violet pale,
She early left her sleepless bed,
The fairest maid of Teviotdale.
XXVI.
Why does fair Margaret so early awake,
And don her kirtle so hastilie;
And the silken knots which in hurry she would make,
Why tremble her slender fingers to tie;
Why does she stop, and look often around,
As she glides down the secret stair;
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound,
As he rouses him up from his lair;
And though she passes the postern alone,
Why is not the watchman's bugle blown?
Why does fair Margaret so early awake,
And don her kirtle so hastilie;
And the silken knots which in hurry she would make,
Why tremble her slender fingers to tie;
Why does she stop, and look often around,
As she glides down the secret stair;
And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound,
As he rouses him up from his lair;
And though she passes the postern alone,
Why is not the watchman's bugle blown?
