FAUCONSHAWE 



" I've risen, Sir Hugh, at the mirk midnight, 



I cannot sleep in my bed, 

 Now, unless my tale can be told aright, 



I wot it were best unsaid ; 

 It lies, the blood of yon northern knight. 



On my lady's hand and head." 



" Oh ! the wild wind raves and rushes along, 

 But thy ravings seem more wild — 



She never could do so foul a wrong — 

 Yet I blame thee not, my child, 



For the fever'd dreams on thy rest that 

 throng ! " — 

 He frown'd though his speech was mild. 



** Let storm-winds eddy, and scream, and hurl 

 Their wrath, they disturb me naught ; 



The daughter she of a high-born earl. 

 No secret of hers I've sought ; 



I am but the child of a peasant churl, 

 Yet look to the proofs I've brought ; 



** This dagger snap't so close to the hilt — 



Dost remember thy token well ? 



Will it match with the broken blade that spilt 



His life in the western dell ? 

 5 65 



