s'd each cottage door,
They did their gambols cease;
And old men shook their locks so hoar,
And wish'd her spirit peace.

For sometimes slow; and sometimes fast,
She held her wav'ring pace;
Like early spring's inconstant blast,
That ruffles evening's face.

At length with weary feet she came,
Where in a shelt'ring wood,
Whose master bore no humble name,
A stately castle stood.

The open gate, and smoking fires,
Which cloud the air so thin;
And shrill bell tinkling from the spires,
Bespoke a feast within.

With busy looks, and hasty tread,
The servants cross the hall;
And many a page, in buskins red,
Await the master's call.

Fair streaming bows of bridal white
On ev'ry shoulder play'd;
And clean, in lily kerchief dight,
Trip'd every houshold maid.

She ask'd for neither lord nor dame,
Nor who the mansion own'd;
But straight into the hall she came,
And sat her on the ground.

The busy crew all crouded nigh,
And round the stranger star'd;
But still she roll'd her wand'ring eye,
Nor for their questions car'd.

"What dost thou want, thou storm-beat' maid,
That thou these portals past?
Ill suiteth here thy looks dismay'd,
Thou art no bidden guest."

"O chide not!" said a gentle page,
And wip'd his tear-wet cheek,
"Who would not shun the winter's rage?
The wind is cold and bleak.

"Her robe is stiff with drizly snow,
And rent her mantle grey;
None ever bade the wretched go
Upon his wedding-day."

Then to his lord he hied him straight,
Where round on silken seat
Sat many a courteous dame and knight.
And made obeisance meet,

"There is a stranger in your hall,
Who wears no common mien;
Hard were the heart, as flinty wall,
That would not take her in.

"A fairer dame in hall or bower
Mine eyes did ne'er behold;
Tho' shelter'd in no father's tower,
And turn'd out to the cold.

"Her face is like an early morn,
Dimm'd with the nightly dew;
Her skin is like the sheeted torn,
Her eyes are wat'ry blue.

"And tall and slender is her form,
Like willow o'er the brook;
But on her brow there broods a storm,
And restless is her look,

"And well her troubled motions shew
The tempest in her mind;
Like the unshelter'd sapling bough
Vex'd with the wintry wind.

"Her head droops on her ungirt breast,
And scatter'd is her hair;
Yet lady brac'd in courtly vest
Was never half so fair."

Reverse, and cold the turning blood
T