He sang as he lay on Mangerton mountain,
That Irish knight who had never known love,
" What song so sweet as the chiming fountain?
What blue so blue as the heaven above? "
Fond heart! for nearer and nearer drew
A sweeter voice and an eye more blue.

" O what can blush by the purple heather?
What gold with the gorse-flower dare compare? "
He turned, fond heart, and found them together,
On her glowing cheek and her glittering hair,
Now what for the knight are the hill-flower's dyes,
The fountain's voice and the sapphire skies?

She had lost her path, that lovely lady,
Whose heart had never a lord confessed;
O bright she blushed, and gently prayed he
Would guide her over the mountain crest;
And little loth was the gallant knight
To squire the steps of that lady bright.

So he took her hand, and they passed together,
The knight and the lady unlearned of love,
Through the golden gorse and the purple heather —
O laughingly beamed the blue above,
And the fountain sang as their feet vent by,
The sibyl fountain, " For aye, for aye . "