'Yesterday I should have married a maid,
But she soon from me was tane,
And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
Whereby my poor heart is slain.'

'What is thy name?' then said Robin Hood,

'Come tell me without any fail:'

'By the faith of my body,' then said the young

man,

'My name it is Allin a Dale.'

'What wilt thou give me?' said Robin Hood,

'In ready gold or fee,

To help thee to thy true love again,

And deliver her unto thee?'

'I have no money,' then quoth the young man,

'No ready gold nor fee,

But I will swear upon a book

Thy true servant for to be.'

'By the faith of my body,' then said the young

man,

'It is but five little mile.'

Then Robin he hasted over the plain,

He did neither stint nor lin,

Until he came unto the church,

Where Allin should keep his wedding.

'What hast thou here?' the bishop then said, 'I prithee now tell unto me:'

'I am a bold harper,' quoth Robin Hood, 'And the best in the north country.'

Garlan

Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat,

And put it upon Little John;

'By the faith of my body,' then Robin said, "This cloth doth make thee a man.'

When Little John went into the quire,
The people began to laugh;

He asked them seven times in the church,
Lest three times should not be enough.

'Who gives me this maid?' said Little John ; Quoth Robin Hood, 'That do I,

And he that takes her from Allin a Dale,

Full dearly he shall her buy.'

And thus having end of this merry wedding,
The bride looked like a queen;

And so they returned to the merry greenwood,
Amongst the leaves so green.

XXXII

VIOLETS

Old Ballad

Under the green hedges after the snow,
There do the dear little violets grow,
Hiding their modest and beautiful heads
Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds.

Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky,

Down there do the dear little violets lie;

XXX: THE PA

en the door, som Keen blows the no eglen is white w

Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen,
By the leaves you may know where the violet hath
been.
7. Moultrie

And the path is h

XXXIII

HE PALMER

Moor, some pity to show!
ws the northern wind!
white with the drifted snow,
path is hard to find.

- seeks your castle gate, asing the king's deer,

en an outlaw's wretched state aim compassion here.

Palmer worn and weak, for my sin;

or Our Lady's sake! n's blessing win!

is crouching in her form,

t beside the hind;

nan, amid the storm, ter can I find.

the Ettrick's sullen roar, eep, and strong is he, st ford the Ettrick o'er, you pity me.

gate is bolted hard, ch I knock in vain ; er's heart is closer barr'd, ears me thus complain.

E