THE TROUBADOUR.
25
Then sought his brother, but alone;
Yet there were some who heard a tone
Of stifled agony, a prayer
His child should meet a father's care;
And as he past the hall again
He call'd around his vassal train,
And bade them own his brother's sway.
Then past himself like a dream away,—
And from that hour none heard his name,
No tale, no tidings of him came,
Save a vague murmur, that he fell
In fighting with the Infidel.
But his fair child grew like a flower
Springing in March's earlier hour,
'Mid storm and chill, yet loveliest—
Though somewhat paler than the rest.
