Abduction

O Lady Judith, my aloof treasure,

does my arm press you too tightly?

Two on a horse leaves little room,

and the winter night does not blow warm.

Hard is the seat, and narrow and tiny,

and cold is my metal clothing,

yet colder and harder than saddle and steel

was your heart, set against me.

Six nights I lay in swamp and moor

and lay awake because of you;

but by Saint George I swore,

I would sleep softer on the seventh night!