Page:Poems by Ingelow, Jean.djvu/271

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And they said, 'He is young, the lad we love,
 * The heir of the Isles is young:

How we deem of his mother, and one gone above,
 * Can neither be said nor sung.

He brings us a pledge—he will do his part
 * With the best of his race and name;'—

And I will, for I look to live, sweetheart,
 * As may suit with my mother's fame.