193
O that the living stars would shine
That light thy brow!
Rise, lady, rise!
Rise, lady, rise,
Ere war's rude cries
Fright land and sea!
To-morrow's light sees mail-sheathed knight,
Even hapless me,
Careering through the bloody fight
Afar from thee!
Rise, lady, rise!
Mute, lady, mute?
I have no lute,
Nor rebeck small
To soothe thine ear with lay sincere,
Or Madrigal;
With helm on head and hand on spear,
On thee I call!
Mute, lady, mute!
Mute, lady, mute
To love's fond suit?
N
