The book of British ballads . Franklin, del, Armstrong ,5c. But when I told the cruel scornThat crazed that bold and lovely knight,And that he crossed the mountain-woods,Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den,And sometimes from the darksome shade,And sometimes starting up at onceIn green and sunny glade,— There came and looked him in the faceAn angel beautiful and bright;And that he knew it was a fiend ;This miserable knight! And that, unknowing what he did,He leaped amid a murderous band,And saved from outrage worse than deathThe Lady of the Land ;— And how she wept, and

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The book of British ballads . Franklin, del, Armstrong ,5c. But when I told the cruel scornThat crazed that bold and lovely knight,And that he crossed the mountain-woods,Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den,And sometimes from the darksome shade,And sometimes starting up at onceIn green and sunny glade,— There came and looked him in the faceAn angel beautiful and bright;And that he knew it was a fiend ;This miserable knight! And that, unknowing what he did,He leaped amid a murderous band,And saved from outrage worse than deathThe Lady of the Land ;— And how she wept, and clasped his knees;And how she tended him in vain—And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ;— And that she nursed him in a cave ;And how his madness went away,When on the yellow forest-leavesA dying man he lay ;— His dying words—but when I reachedThat tenderest strain of all the ditty,My faltering voice and pausing harpDisturbed her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and senseHad thrilled my g

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