BUSH BALLADS AND RHYMES 



Brown Britomarte lay dead in her straw 



Next morn — we buried her — brave old o-irl! 

 John Kerr, we tried him by martial law, 

 And we twisted some hemp for the traitor 

 churl ; 

 And she, I met her alone, said she, 



'' You have risk'd your life, you have lost 

 your mare. 

 And what can 1 give in return, Ralph Leigh?" 

 I replied, " One braid of that bright brown 

 hair." 

 And with that she bow'd her beautiful head, 

 * ' You can take as much as you choose," she said. 



And I took, it may be, more than enough — 



And I shore it rudely, close to the roots. 

 The wine or wounds may have made me rough. 



And men at the bottom are merely brutes. 

 Three weeks I slept at St Hubert's-chase. 



When I woke from the fever of wounds and 

 wine 

 I could scarce believe that the ghastly face 



That the glass reflected was really mine. 

 I sought the hall — where a wedding hadbeen — 



The wedding of Guy and of Gwendoline. 



274 



