steed wellnigh stumbled.

"Would I could make thee fall, Black Earl, who now art so high, ere thou
rob fruit from the branch!"

Only one living thing upon the mountains saw him go without mourning, and
he was the red weasel who took the world as he found it.

"Tears will not heal a wound," saith he, "but they will quench a fire. Thy
hive is in danger, bee," quoth he. "Bramble, thy flowers are scattered and
thy fruit lost."

But the Black Earl did not heed or hear anything outside his own thoughts.
They were sharper than the bee's sword and less easy to cast aside than
the entrapping bramble.

When he reached the castle wherein his bride did dwell, he blew three
blasts upon the horn that hung beside the gate, and in answer to his call
a voice cried out to him. But what it said I shall sing thee, lest thou
grow weary of my prose:

_"Come in, come in, Earl Roderick,
Come in or you be late;
The priest is ready in his stole.
The wedding guests await."_

_And then the stern Earl Roderick
From his fierce steed came down;
The sneer still curled upon his lip,
His eyes still held the frown._