It was a Maiden young and fair,

She sat and watch'd within her bower,

In days of yore when warriors were,

And belted knight, and moated tower;

Long, long ago!

She sat and watch'd one summer's eve—

Why doth she so?

Why will not she her lattice leave?

Ah, those were days when maids were true!

The hour was come,—and well she knew.

It was a Squire, a gentle squire,

Came spurring darkly down below;

His steed was splashed with foam and mire,

Oh, what but love could urge him so?

'Twas even so,

He crept beneath the castle-wall,

Long, long ago,

And on his love began to call;

The damsel o'er her lattice hung,

He touch'd his lute, and thus he sung:

"They told me, love, that thou wert fair,

And very fair thou art, 'tis true;

They said thy cheeks like roses were,

Thy lips, 'two rosebuds wet with dew;'

But is it so?

Could ever flower with thee compare?

Ah no! ah no!

Oh never yet was rose so fair!

Could flowers like thee in gardens grow,

The gardeners all were blithe, I trow.

"They said thine eye was like the star,

The brightest star that beams above,

Which men may gaze on from afar,

Admire and watch, in fear and love;

But is it so?

Was ever star so soft and fair?

Ah no! ah no!

Oh, would such stars in heaven there were

How glad I'd watch till morning's light,

To peep and worship all the night."

It was her Sire, a surly knight,

He slept, and slept, with many a snore;

He heard the song, and woke in spite,

And left his couch, y-grumbling sore.

He look'd below,

Then seized a huge cold-water bath—

Long, long ago—

And flung it o'er, in rage and wrath!—

The squire flew off, the damsel fled,

And then the knight went back to bed.