But what befell the sword and
my brother Hugh I will tell on another time,' said he, rising. 'Ohe,
Swallow!' The great horse cantered up from the far end of the meadow,
close to Mother.

They heard Mother say: 'Children, Gleason's old horse has broken into
the meadow again. Where did he get through?'

'Just below Stone Bay,' said Dan. 'He tore down simple flobs of the
bank! We noticed it just now. And we've caught no end of fish. We've
been at it all the afternoon.' And they honestly believed that they
had. They never noticed the Oak, Ash and Thorn leaves that Puck had
slyly thrown into their laps.

Sir Richard's Song

I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,
To take from England fief and fee;
But now this game is the other way over--
But now England hath taken me!

I had my horse, my shield and banner,
And a boy's heart, so whole and free;
But now I sing in another manner--
But now England hath taken me!

As for my Father in his tower,
Asking news of my ship at sea;
He will remember his own hour--
Tell him England hath taken me!

As for my Mother in her bower,
That rules my Father so cunningly;
She will remember a maiden's power--
Tell her England hath taken me!

As for my Brother in Rouen city,
A nimble and naughty page is he;
But he will come to suffer and pity--
Tell him England hath taken me!

As for my little Sister waiting
In the pleasant orchards of Normandie;
Tell her youth is the time of mating--
Tell her England hath taken me!

As for my Comrades in camp and highway,
That lift their eyebrows scornfully;
Tell them their way is not my way--
Tell them England hath taken me!

Kings and Princes and Barons famed,
Knights and Captains in your degree;
Hear me a little before I am blamed--
Seeing England hath taken me!

Howso great man's strength be reckoned,
There are two things he cannot flee;
Love is the first, and Death is the second--
And Love, in England, hath taken me!

THE KNIGHTS OF THE JOYOUS VENTURE

Harp Song of the Dane Women

What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in--
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you
Bound on the