p. 7“Aloft on the gallows she’ll hang thee, I trow,
And burn me to ashes the gallows below.”

“O I will not hang, my sweet maiden, for thee
And thou shalt not burn, my sweet maiden, for me.

“Collect thou thy gold in the coffer with speed,
And I’ll to the stable and saddle my steed.”

He flung round the maiden his mantle so wide,
And he lifted her up on his courser of pride.

They came to the wood of the briar and rose,
There Sidselil craved for a while to repose.

“Now art thou fatigued by thy journey, sweet love,
Or say, does the saddle too close for thee prove?”

“I am not o’ercome by the journey, sweet love,
But the saddle too close for my burden doth prove.”

p. 8He spread on the cold earth his mantle so wide:
“Here rest thee a space . . . Read More