—"Hast thou been on the field?—Art thou come from the host?"
—"From the slaughter, Lady!—All, all is lost!
Our banners are taken, our knights laid low,
Our spearmen chased by the Paynim foe,
And thy Lord," his voice took a sadder sound—
"Thy Lord—he is not on the bloody ground!
There are those who tell that the leader's plume
Was seen on the flight through the gathering gloom."
—A change o'er her mien and her spirit past;
She ruled the heart which had beat so fast,
She dash'd the tears from her kindling eye,
With a glance, as of sudden royalty:
The proud blood sprang in a fiery flow,
Quick o'er bosom, and cheek, and brow,
And her young voice rose till the peasant shook
At the thrilling tone and the falcon-look:
—"Dost thou stand by the tombs of the glorious dead,
And fear not to say, that their son hath fled?
