"Oh, Mary, Mother, pray my soul to rest! Take mercy, Lord, on a soul
afraid."

"Where are the lips from which thou hast stolen that cry?" said the Black
Earl; and, like an old man bent with trouble, he sought the banks, seeking
for the white form of his bride. "Now," quoth he, "well do I know this
stream hath carried her last cry to my feet, and her drowning lips have
been forced to sinful death to-night by my long cruelty."

He went up the hill as a man goeth to despair, slow and afraid; and when
he reached the little wood in whose bosom the lake was enshrined, he
paused and looked around.

Of this shall I sing, for so sad and piteous it is that my harp would fain
soothe me from tears:

_He looked into the deep wood green,
But nothing there did see;
He looked into the still water
Beneath, all white, lay she._

_He drew her from her cold, cold bed,
And kissed her cheek and chin;
Loosed from his neck his silken cloak,
To wrap her body in._

_He took her up in his two arms--
His grief was deep and wild;
He knelt beside her on the sod,
And sorrowed like a child._