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It was evening--that time before the moon is up and when the

earth is dark, as yet, and full of shadows Now as I went, by

so I had

read solorious, brutal,

knightly days of Edward the First, of warlike memory; and the

words ran thus: "For her love I carke, and care,

For her love I droop, and dare,

For her love my bliss is bare

And I an!"

"I wonder what poor, love-sick, long-dead-and-forgotten fool

wrote that?" said I aloud

"For her love, in sleep I slake,

For her love, all night I wake,

For her love, I hty squire-at-arht

(probably of a dark, unlovely look), who rode the forest ways

with his thoughts full of Her, and drea of Her loveliness

"Howbeit, he was, beyond all doubt, a fool and a great one!" said

I, "for it is to be inferred, from these feords he has left

us, that his love was hopeless She was, perhaps, proud and of a