Chapter 3

Stille I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, And gentler sobbed the dove as it eased her of her payne, And meseemed a voyce yt cry'd-- 'They shall ryde, and they shall ryde 'Tyll the truce of tyme and tyde Come agayne! Alle for Eldorado, yette never maye attayne!'

Stille I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, And scarcelye moaned the dove, as her agonye was spente: 'Shalle to-morrowe see them nygher To a golden walle or spyre? You have better in yr fyre, Bee contente.' As I laye a-dreamynge, it seem'd smalle punyshment.

But I laye a-wakynge, and loe! the dawne was breakynge And rarely pyped a larke for the promyse of the daye: 'Uppe and sette yr lance in reste! Uppe and followe on the queste! Leave the issue to be guessed At the endynge of the waye'--

As I laye a-wakynge, 'twas soe she seemed to say-- 'Whatte and if it alle be feynynge? There be better thynges than gaynynge, Rycher pryzes than attaynynge.'-- And 'twas truthe she seemed to saye. Whyles the dawne was breakynge, I rode upon my waye.

THE END