Beneath the boughs of ancient, whispered wood,
Where shadowed glens embrace the silver moon,
There rides a knight, whose heart in sorrow stood,
For fairest maid, whose love he sought to woo.

Her golden tresses, like the sun’s bright ray,
In fields of verdure, where the lark doth sing,
Yet cruel fate hath borne her far away,
And left his soul in winter’s bitter sting.

Through storméd vales and mountains clad in snow,
He quests anew, nor rest nor respite knows,
To pledge his troth, his steadfast love to show,
And wake her heart ere life’s last ember glows.

So rides he forth ’neath stars that guide his way,
To find his lady ’fore the break of day.