138
A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.
Were menaced with a siege; and he had sworn
By Isabelle's white hand that he would claim
Its beauty only as a conqueror's prize.
Autumn was on the woods, when the blue Rhine
Grew red with blood:—Lord Herbert's banner flies,
And gallant is the bearing of his ranks.
But where is he who said that he would ride
At his right hand to battle?—Roland! where—
Oh! where is Roland?
Isabelle has watched
Day after day, night after night, in vain,
Till she has wept in hopelessness, and thought
Upon old histories, and said with them,
"There is no faith in man's fidelity!"
