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 The cat sits purring at her side, bees hum in sunshine warm;
But, look! she starts, she lifts her face, she shade sit with her arm.
And, hark! a train of horsemen, with sound of dog and horn,
Come leaping o'er the ditches, come trampling down the corn!
Merrily rang the bridle-reins, and scarf and plume streamed gay,
As fast beside her father's gate the riders held their way;
And one was brave in scarlet cloak, with golden spur on heel,
And, as he checked his foaming steed, the maiden checked her wheel.
“All hail among thy roses, the fairest rose to me!
For weary months in secret my heart has longed for thee!”
What noble knight was this? What words for modest maiden's ear?
She dropped a lowly courtesy of bashfulness and fear.
She lifted up her spinning-wheel; she fain would seek the door,
Trembling in every limb, her cheek with blushes crimsoned o'er.
“Nay, fear me not,” the rider said, “I offer heart and hand,
Bear witness these good Danish knights who round about me stand.
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