“The babe has grown to be--the fairest of the land And rides the forest green--a hawk upon her hand. An ambling palfrey white--a golden robe and crown; I've seen her in my dreams--riding up and down; And heard the ogre laugh--as she fell into his snare, At the little tender creature--who wept and tore her hair!
“But ever when it seemed--her need was at the sorest A prince in shining mail--comes prancing through the forest. A waving ostrich-plume--a buckler burnished bright; I've seen him in my dreams--good sooth! a gallant knight. His lips are coral red--beneath a dark moustache; See how he waves his hand--and how his blue eyes flash!
“'Come forth, thou Paynim knight!'--he shouts in accents clear. The giant and the maid--both tremble his voice to hear. Saint Mary guard him well!--he draws his falchion keen, The giant and the knight--are fighting on the green. I see them in my dreams--his blade gives stroke on stroke, The giant pants and reels--and tumbles like an oak!
“With what a blushing grace--he falls upon his knee And takes the lady's hand--and whispers, 'You are free!' Ah! happy childish tales--of knight and faerie! I waken from my dreams--but there's ne'er a knight for me; I waken from my dreams--and wish that I could be A child by the old hall-fire--upon my nurse's knee.”
Indeed, Ottilia looked like a fairy herself: pale, small, slim, and airy. You could not see her face, as it were, for her eyes, which were so wild, and so tender, and shone so that they would have dazzled an eagle, much more a poor goose of a Fitz-Boodle. In the theatre, when she sat on the opposite side of the house, those big eyes used to pursue me as I sat pretending to listen to the “Zauberflote,” or to “Don Carlos,” or “Egmont,” and at the tender passages, especially, they would have such a winning, weeping, imploring look with them as flesh and blood could not bear.
Shall I tell how I became a poet for the dear girl's sake? 'Tis surely unnecessary after the reader has perused the above versions of her poems. Shall I tell what wild follies I committed in prose as well as in verse? how I used to watch under her window of icy evenings, and with chilblainy fingers sing serenades to her on the guitar? Shall I tell how, in a sledging-party, I had the happiness to drive her, and of the delightful privilege which is, on these occasions, accorded to the driver?