Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/28

Meekly, yet fervently, calling down aid,
Under their banners of battle she pray'd;
With her pale fair brow, and her eyes of love,
Upraised to the Virgin's pourtray'd above,
And her hair flung back, till it swept the grave
Of a Chatillon with its gleamy wave.
And her fragile frame, at every blast,
That full of the savage war-horn pass'd,
Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart,
When it vainly strives from its cage to part,—
    So knelt she in her woe;
A weeper alone with the tearless dead—
Oh! they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed,
    Or the dust had stirr'd below!

Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone,
Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan;—
Is her lord return'd with his conquering bands?
No! a breathless vassal before her stands!