THE TROUBADOUR.
163
And then farewell to arms and Spain;—
Then for their own fair France again.
One morn there swell'd the trumpet's blast,
Calling to battle, but the last;
And Amirald watch'd the youthful knight
Spur his proud courser to the fight:
Tall as the young pine yet unbent
By strife with its mountain element,—
His vizor was up, and his full dark eye
Flash'd as its flashing were victory;
And hope and pride sate on his brow
As his earlier war-dreams were on him now.
Well might he be proud, for where was there one
Who had won the honour that he had won?
And first of the line it was his to lead
His band to many a daring deed.
