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."

"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:

"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.

"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.

The guests are gone: all wild and wan

He saw the guests depart:

But she is wanest of the wan,

A dagger in her heart.

Within the room Childe Ronald stands,

Then sinks upon his knees—

He stares with horror on his hands,

Then rises up and flees.

He rises from his knees with dread,

He flies that room unblest—

"Now saddle me my horse, my horse!

For I must ride, must ride!"—

But by his side—is it Remorse

That follows, stride for stride?

Within the wood, the dark pine-wood,

He rides with closÉd ears—

But evermore the ceaseless thud

Of following hoofs he hears.

With close-shut eyes and down-bowed head

He rides among the trees—

But evermore the restless dead

There at his side he sees.

And evermore the autumn blast

Above him sobs and sighs,

"Who rides so far, who rides so fast,

With closÉd ears and eyes?"

He hears it not: he gallops on:

The rain cries in the trees—

"Who is this rides so wild and wan?

And what is that he flees?