'And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And he his Alice Brand.' II 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonn'd within the hill,— Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, 'Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Or who comes here to chase the deer, Or who may dare on wold to wear 'Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christen'd man: For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For mutter'd word or ban. Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die!' III 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Though the birds have still'd their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, And as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 'I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf, 'That is made with bloody hands.' -Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, The blood of Ethert Brand.' Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 'And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 'And I conjure thee, Demon elf, IV 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing : And gaily shines the Fairy-land But all is glistening show, Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow. "And fading, like that varied gleam, Who now like knight and lady seem, 'It was between the night and day, 'But wist I of a woman bold, I might regain my mortal mould, |