Ballad. Poem by Henry Alford

The Baron is back from his hawking come,
At the close of the summer's day:
But the spots of red blood danced over his eyes
That he might not see the play--
And the heavy deep bells were tolling.

The Baron is back to his banquet come,
And hath sat him down to dine;
But his thoughts they ran on the red red blood
That he might not taste the wine--
And the heavy deep bells were tolling.

Now where were ye, sister, when I rode by,
For ye were not in your bower:--
Oh I was chasing a bright butterfly
That flew from flower to flower--
Where the summer rose--buds were blowing.

And where were ye, sister, when I rode back,
For ye were not in your hall:--
Oh I was watching the large sun set
From off the castle wall--
When the yellow wall--flowers were closing.

But where were ye, sister, at mid of night,
For ye were not laid asleep:--
Oh I looked for love of the pale round moon
In the moat so still and deep--
When the loud night--birds were singing.

The Baron looked over the castle trees
At the turning of the sun;
And that Lady wailed and tossed her hands
As she would never have done--
For her own true--love she's weeping.

The Baron looked over the dim church--yard
As the moon was on the wane;
And that Lady lay by a new--turned grave,
She may rise never again--
With her own true--love she's sleeping.

--Now up, thou Baron of Taunton tower,
To the holy cloister flee;
For thou hast slain the truest pair
In all the West countree.
And the heavy deep bells are tolling.