A Ballad Of Cornwall

*
An Arthurian Miscellany

I

Sir Tristram lay by a well,

Making sad moan;

Fast his tears tell,

For wild the wood through,

Stricken with shrewd

Sorrow, he ran,

When he deemed her untrue --

La Beale Isoud!

For he loved her alone.

Ii

So as he lay,

Wasted and wan,

Scarce like a man,

Pricking that way

His lady-love came,

With her damsels around,

And her face all a-flame

With the breezes of May;

While a brachet beside her

Still bayed the fair rider,

Still leaped up and bayed her;

A small scenting hound

That Sir Tristram purveyed her.

Iii

So she rode on;

But the brachet behind

Hung snuffing the wind,

Till seeking and crying

Faster and faster,

Beside the well lying

She found her dear master!

Then licking his ears

And cheeks wet with tears,

For joy never resting

Kept whining and questing.

Iv

Isoud (returned

Seeking her hound)

Soon as she learned

Tristram was found,

Straightway alighting,

Fell in a swound.

V

Won by her lover

Thence to recover,

Who shall the greeting

Tell of their meeting?

Joy, by no tongue

E'er to be sung

Passed in that plighting!

Vi

Thus while they dallied,

Forth the wood sallied

An horrible libbard, and bare

The brachet away to his lair!