"
"One boon, O royal lover,
I ask on St Agnes Day;
I fain would gaze on thy visage fair
Ere with thee I steal away.
"Unmuffle thou the mantle
That hides thee like a pall;
And let the purple trappings
From off thy shoulders fall."
Slowly he loosed the mantle,
And showed his face beneath.
The lights went out in the maiden's eyes;
One swooning word she breathed to the skies:
The gaunt hills echoed "Death."
End of Project Gutenberg Etext Songs of the Ridings, by F. W. Moorman
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