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THE VIGIL OF ARMS.
203
There were crested knight, and gorgeous dame,
Glittering athwart the gloom,
And he follow'd, till his bold step came
To his warrior-father's tomb.
But there the still and shadowy might
Of the monumental stone,
And the holy sleep of the soft lamp's light,
That over its quiet shone,
And the image of that sire, who died
In his noonday of renown—
These had a power unto which the pride
Of fiery life bow'd down.
And a spirit from his early years
Came back o'er his thoughts to move,
Till his eye was fill'd with memory's tears,
And his heart with childhood's love!
And he look'd, with a change in his softening glance,
To the armour o'er the grave,—
