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204
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
For there they hung, the shield and lance,
And the gauntlet of the brave.
And the sword of many a field was there,
With its cross for the hour of need,
When the knight's bold war-cry hath sunk in prayer,
And the spear is a broken reed!
—Hush! did a breeze through the armour sigh?
Did the folds of the banner shake?
Not so!—from the tomb's dark mystery
There seem'd a voice to break!
He had heard that voice bid clarions blow,
He had caught its last blessing's breath,—
'Twas the same—but its awful sweetness now
Had an under tone of death!
And it said,—"The sword hath conquer'd kings,
And the spear through realms hath pass'd;
But the cross, alone, of all these things,
Might aid me at the last."
