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TALE OF THE 14TH CENTURY.
247
The halls, the courts, the gates, are past,
She gains the moonlit beach at last.
Who waits to guide her trembling feet?
Who flies the fugitive to greet?
He, to her youthful heart endeared
By all it e'er had hoped and feared,
Twined with each wish, with every thought
Each day-dream fancy e'er had wrought,
Whose tints pourtray with flattering skill
What brighter worlds alone fulfil!
—Alas! that aught so fair should fly
Thy blighting wand, Reality!
A chieftain's mien her Osbert bore,
A pilgrim's lowly robes he wore,
Disguise that vainly strove to hide
Bearing and glance of martial pride;
For he in many a battle scene,
On many a rampart-breach had been;
Had sternly smiled at danger nigh,
Had seen the valiant bleed and die,
