Page:King's daughter.pdf/3

3 And down fell her ringlets of chestnut hair,

Down in a shower of gold;

And she hid her face in her lover’s arms,

With feelings best left untold.

Then slowly rose she in her bower,

With something of pride and scorn,

And she look’d like a tall and dewy flower

That lifts up its head to the morn.

She flung her golden ring’ets aside,

And a deep blush crimson’d her cheek,—

“Heaven bless thee, Alfred, and thy young bride,

Heaven give you the joy you seek!

“Thou wert not born for a cottage, love,

Nor yet for a maiden of low degree;

Thou wilt find thy mate in the king’s daughter—

Forget and forgive thy Rosalie.”

Sir Alfred has flung him upon his steed,

But he rides at a laggard pace;

Of the road he is travelling he takes no heed,

And a deadly paleness is on his face.

Sir Alfred has come to the king’s palace,

And slowly Sir Alfred has lighted down ;

He sigh’d when he thought of the king’s daughter—

He sigh’d when he thought of her father’s crown.

“Oh! that my home were the greenwood bower,

Under the shelter of the greenwood tree!

Oh! that my strength had been all my dower,

All my possessions Rosalie!”