90
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
With loud acclaim and greeting hand,
As if she had not left their land:
Deserted in her hour of need,
With life and death upon her speed.
But now she comes—the fair, the bright,
As if her reign were a delight.
Its path of flowers, its way through song,
Rolls her triumphal car along;
Noble or vassal, each one vies
To catch the sunshine of her eyes:
And yet beneath her silver veil
The maiden's cheek is lovely pale.
Ah, on such gentle cheek is laid
The shadow of a lover's shade!
Her smile had to Leoni flown—
Alas! his answered not her own.
