Spring to your horses,
My merry men all,—
So shouted the Baron,
Across the old hall,—
Away with a cheer
O'er the mountain and meer,
For the hart is aroused
From his bed in the heather,
And long has caroused
In the sweet Spring weather.—

Then hearing the Lord,
Twenty men took their bows,
And tossed on their caps,
And their quivers of arrows,
And in dresses of green,
They to horse all have sped,
And away they have rid,
Down the steep thundered,
And waked the wild deer,
From his couch that was near,
And him coursing have gone,
By the light of the moon.

But Alice was left
By the window alone,
Of her slumber bereft,
And gaily bestrown
With sweet thought that bright morn,
Looking out on the vale,
Far away o'er the corn,
And the lake where one sail,
Was tipped by the light of day,
That shot o'er the mountain,
And fleet ran along,
To river and fountain,
And the covert bird's song.

Young Alice was beautiful,
Wondrous and fair,
Hazel rich were her eyes,
And rich brown was her hair,
And her form was a sight
To adorn every dream,
In her lover's brief night,
And her soft, lovely eyebeam
Was a spell of such power,
That it filled every hour,
With a light of its own,
And a fanciful tone.

Where, where is my lover!—
Thus the sweet Alice sung,
And where has he rid
The bold hunters among?
Is he chasing the deer,
O'er mountain and meer,
Or sits he alone,
In his proud father's hall,
And ponders his book,
Or leans o'er the wall?
Come Clarence, come now,
In my ear breathe thy vow!

On my cheek may thy lip
Seal the first kisses there,
As deep in my heart,
Thy dear form I may wear;
They all to the chase,
On the fleet coursers race.

Not one is left here,
Save old nurse who well knows
The love of my Clarence,
And shares my dear woes!—
When into the window,
Beyond where Alice leaned,
There sprang in a youth,
By the broad shadow screened.
His arm round her waist,
Her rich beauty embraced,
And her lips to his own,
Were pressed in a swoon.
Her cheeks dyed with blushes,
Were than roses more red,
And her heart beat like flushes
The thunderstorms shed,
And still to the youth she clung,
Who sweetly thus sung:

Dear Alice! my Alice!
My own lovely child,
I have heard thy low words,
Thou bride undefiled,
And below is my steed
Who is fleet for the war,
But can carry at need,
A lady full far,
And below on the lake,
Is my boat with her sail,
And the wind shall us take
Till the four towers fail,
Of the castle so old,
Kept by the Baron so bold.

O my father! said Alice,
But my father has gone;—
'T is the thing that I love!—
And he pressed her cheek long,
Thy father has sped
To the chase of the deer,
There is nothing to dread,
There is nothing to fear,
Then come, haste away,
And be quick, wastes the day.

O my father! said Alice,
But my father is kind!—
Fear not, said the youth,
He shall be of our mind,
Fear not, I shall come
To the castle again,
And bring my Alice home,
And fill the old keep with men,
And the Baron so bold,
Shall laugh when he sees
My prowess and courage,
And fire flash from his eyes.—

Then dim the mist gathered
Along the low shore,
In a phantom all gray,
And the wind sighing o'er,
Made the castle to echo,
And the shrubs at its base
All mournfully rustled
Along the brown space,
And the Nurse from her room,
Beneath the fond pair,
Cried,—the hunters are coming,
My Alice! take care!—

And the thundering crash,
Of their hoofs on the stone,
Whirled up the steep ascent,
And the court-yard forlorn,
Thou wilt fly! Alice cried,
'T is my father's wild band,
Fly, fly, for thy life!
And whither?—his hand
On her shoulder is placed,
And they two are now bound;
Down the steep castle-side,
They had slid to the ground,
When the Baron so bold
In the arch of the tower,
Looked out from his hold,
At that merciless hour;
The youth with his prize,
Had just lit on the earth,—
Shoot, shoot! said the Baron,
Touch not child of my birth,
But kill me this thief,
Who would rob me so brief!

Four bows bent amain,
And four arrows off sped,
But touch not the twain
With the copse overhead,

Nor touch the proud courser,
Whose silken rein shook,
Not a whit in his hand
As the youth up it took,
Then dashed in his spurs,
O'er the heath, o'er the moors,
And away they have flown,
For a second alone.

Out! saddle your steeds!
Said the Baron so bold,—
Ride, ride, for your lives,
Strike that knave, ne'er be told
That we missed him this time,
If the chase be not prime.—

They sprang to their horses,
With might and with main
They drave like the lightning,
After the twain,
But the fleet-footed courser
Was steady and far,

Their deer had been chased,
And that morning their war,
Yet they lagged not behind,
And swept on like the wind,
The Baron 'fore all,
With plumed figure so tall.

Down fell horse after horse,
Until three only were left,
And two more than the Baron,
Near the shore's sandy cleft,
And they saw as they ran,
The white sail shake and fill,
And across the vexed water,
As they plunged down the hill
To the desolate beach,
Did the little bark reach.

And the Baron was frantic,
And maddened alone,
For the rest drooped behind,
And his arrow has flown;
It strikes in the breast
Of the sweet Alice then,
And the Baron falls helpless,
A corse for his men.

Alas! for the day!—
Sang the Nurse when they came,
With the bold Baron home,
And they told her the game,
How the arrow had sped,
And the boat had sailed on,
Alas! for the day,
And our Lord who is gone.

And woe for the day!
For our Alice so sweet
And her Clarence so true,
And the courser so fleet;
Ye tell me that Alice died not
In her pride,
And the lover drew out,
The red shaft from his bride;
Alas! in her heart, the arrow is left,
And her father is dead,
Of all pity bereft!