or with fern or brushwood raised
A fitful flame, but cautious, lest its light
Some roving forester might mark. At times,
The small and trembling blaze shone on her face,
Still beautiful, and showed the dark eye's fire
Beneath her long black locks. When she stood up,
A dignity, though in the garb of want,
Seemed round her, chiefly when the brushwood-blaze 270
Glanced through the gloom, and touched the dusky mail
Of the strange knight; then with sad smile she sung:

Oh! when 'tis summer weather,
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound,
The waters clear is humming round,
And the cuckoo sings unseen,
And the leaves are waving green--
Oh! then 'tis sweet,
In some remote retreat,
To hear the murmuring dove, 280
With those whom on earth alone we love,
And to wind through the greenwood together.
But when 'tis winter weather, 283
And crosses grieve,
And friends deceive,
And rain and sleet
The lattice beat,--
Oh! then 'tis sweet
To sit and sing
Of the friends with whom, in the days of spring, 290
We roamed through the greenwood together.

The bloodhound slept upon the hearth; he raised
His head, and, through the dusk, his eyes were seen,
Fiery, a moment; but again he slept,
When she her song renewed.

Though thy words might well deceive me--
That is past--subdued I bend;
Yet, for mercy, do not leave me
To the world without a friend!
Oh! thou art gone! and would, with thee, 300
Remembrance too had fled!
She lives to bid me weep, and see
The wreath I cherished dead.

The knight, through the dim lattice, watched the clouds
Of morn, now slowly struggling in the east,
When, with a voice more thrilling, and an air
Wilder, again a sad song she intoned:

Upon the field of blood,
Amidst the bleeding brave,
O'er his pale corse I stood-- 310
But he is in his grave!
I wiped his gory brow, 312
I smoothed his clotted hair--
But he is at peace, in the cold ground now;
O