…Merlin was still lamenting his plight;
‘How does it happen that the seasons are so different?
Spring provides leaves and flowers,
Summer gives crops,
Autumn ripe apples,
but then Winter’s ice wastes all!
O, that there were no white frost…
The messenger interrupted the Wild Man’s complaint
with notes from a cither which he had brought with him.
He lay in the hazel thicket hidden from sight
and with a low voice began to sing;
‘O, the weeping tears of Gwendolina,
there were none amongst women as beautiful,
in fairness, prettier than the petals of the privet,
the glory of spring shone in her face,
the splendour of stars in her gaze,
but now she is worn with much weeping
for she knows not where her prince has gone!’
Thus sang the messenger in an attempt to sooth Merlin’s
madness and lure him from the wood…