"And for vest of pall,[244] thy finger small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer, To keep the cold away."-- "O Richard! if my brother died, 'Twas but a fatal chance; For darkling[245] was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance. "If pall and vair[246] no more I wear, Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we'll say, is the russet[247] gray, As gay the forest-green.[248] "And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand." [241] Song thrush. [242] Blackbird. [243] Open country. [244] A rich fabric. [245] In the dark. [246] Fur of the squirrel. [247] Coarse homespun cloth. [248] The clothing of a hunter. XIII. BALLAD CONTINUED. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's ax is ringing. Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who won'd[249] within the hill,-- Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill. "Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear The fairies' fatal green! "Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christen'd man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For mutter'd word or ban. "Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die." [249] Dwelt. XIV. BALLAD CONTINUED. 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Though the birds have still'd their singing! The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself, "I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, "That is made with bloody hands." But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear,-- "And if there's blood upon his hand, 'Tis but the blood of deer."-- "Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly[250] blood, The blood of Ethert Brand." Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign,-- "And if there's blood on Richard's hand, A spotless hand is mine. "And I conjure thee, demon elf, By Him whom demons fear, To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here?" [250] Kindred. XV. BALLAD CONTINUED. "'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland, When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing: