"What ho, Sir Page, what luckless chance

    Hath buckled thee to my side?"

   Up spake then first that shrivelled thing,

    And he shook his locks of grey:

   "Why lowers the cloud on Muncaster's brow,

    And the foam tracks his troubled way?"

   "There's a lady, the fairest in all this land,"

    The haughty chief replied;

   "But that lady's love in vain I've sought,

    And I'll woo none other bride."

   "And is there not beauty in other lands,

    And locks of raven hue,

   That thou must pine for a maiden cold,

    Whose bosom love ne'er knew?"

   "Oh, there is beauty in every land,"

    The sorrowing knight replied;

   "But I'd rather Margaret of Lonsdale wed,

    Than the fairest dame beside."

   "And thou shalt the Lady Margaret wed,"

    Said that loathly dwarf again;

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