Childe Ronald rode adown the wood, His spear upon his knee; When, lo, he saw a girl who stood Beneath an old oak tree.
And when Childe Ronald saw her there, So fair and fresh of hue-- "Ten tire-maids wait to comb thy hair, And ten to latch thy shoe;
"A gown of sendal, gold and pearl, And pearls for neck and ear--" "But I am but a low-born girl Who wait my lover here!"
Childe Ronald took her by the hand And drew her to his side-- "Thou shalt be a Lady of the land.-- Now mount by me and ride."
She needs must mount; and through the wood They rode unto the sea: When in his towers at last she stood A pale-faced girl was she.
"Unbusk, unbusk her, tire-girls! Take off these rags," quoth he; "And clothe her body in silk and pearls, And red gold, neck and knee."
They busked her in a shift of silk, And in a samite gown: They looped her throat with pearls like milk, And crowned her with a crown.
They brought her in unto the priest-- She saw nor priest nor groom:-- They married her and made a feast, Then led her to her room....
"Unbusk, unbusk me, tire-maids, Now it hath come to lie. Comb down my locks in simple braids, A simple maid am I.
"Unbusk, unbusk me, handmaidens; Long will I lie a-bed: And when Childe Ronald lies by me, 'Twill be when I am dead.
"When I am cold and dead, sweethearts, And song be turned to sigh-- No love of mine hath he, sweethearts, And a wretched bride am I.
"A harper harped in the banquet hall; An ancient man was he; The song he sang was sweet to all, But it was sad to me.
"He sang and harped of a maiden fair, Whose face was like the morn, Who gave her lover a token there Beneath the trysting thorn.
"He harped and sang of a damosel Who swore she would be true: And then of a heart as false as Hell, He cursed with curses two.
"And at the first curse, note for note, My roses turned to rue: Or ever the second curse he smote No more of earth I knew.
"And, 'See!' they cried, 'her eyes, how wide! And, lo, her face--how wan!'-- And they shall see me paler-eyed Or ever the night be gone!
"Unbusk, unbusk me, tire-maids, For now 'tis time to lie. Let down my locks in simple braids, A simple maid am I."...
And there is wonder and there is wail, And pale is every guest; Childe Ronald, too, is pale, is pale, Far paler than the rest.