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Rh By the Virgin, tell me true, On what errand?

To pursue! Thus all nakedly to glide, Lovely poet! by thy side, Is my task—my heart’s desire— I have feet that never tire; And am bound by secret spell, All thy wanderings to tell; To espy each wile and art, Fairest jewel of my heart!

Vagrant, without home and shelter, Man of limbs all helter skelter! Crooked, lank-shanked, luckless shade— Shape of rainbow, hue of mire, Art thou then a bailiff paid, By the wolf-tongued Eithig’s hire, Into all my paths to pry? Skulking mercenary spy!

That, Sir Minstrel, I deny!

Whence then art thou, giant’s child? Shape of darkness, huge and wild;