BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



Had he lightly loved, had he trusted less, 

 I had sinn'd perchance with the sinfulness 



That through prayer and penance is 

 pardon'd. 

 Oh, love most loyal ! Oh, faith most sure ! 

 In the purity of a soul so pure 

 I found my safeguard — I sinn'd secure. 



Till my heart to the sin grew harden'd. 



We were glad together in gladsome meads, 

 When they shook to the strokes of our snorting 

 steeds. 



We were joyful in joyous lustre 

 When it flush'd the coppice or fill'd the glade. 

 Where the horn of the Dane or the Saxon 



bray'd. 

 And we saw the heathen banner display'd. 

 And the heathen lances cluster. 



Then a steel-shod rush and a steel-clad ring, 



And a crash of the spear staves splintering, 



And the billowy battle blended. 



Riot of chargers, revel of blows, 



And fierce flush'd faces of fighting foes, 



From croup to bridle, that reel'd and rose. 



In a sparkle of sword-play splendid. 

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