Page:Felicia Hemans in The Literary Souvenir 1826.pdf/6

 Stretched by a broken lance. They reached the lone Baronial chapel, where the forest-gloom Fell heaviest, for the massy boughs had grown Into high archways, as to vault the tomb. Stately they trod the hollow-ringing aisle, A strange, deep echo shuddered through the pile, Till crested heads, at last, in silence bent Round the De Couci's antique monument, When dust to dust was given: and Aymer slept Beneath the drooping banners of his line, Whose broidered folds the Syrian wind had swept Proudly and oft o'er fields of Palestine: So the sad rite was closed. The sculptor gave Trophies, ere long, to deck that lordly grave, And the pale image of a youth, arrayed As warriors are for fight, but calmly laid, In slumber, on his shield. Then all was done, All still, around the dead. His name was heard, Perchance, when wine-cups flowed, and hearts were stirred By some old song, or tale of battle won, Told round the hearth: but in his father's breast Manhood's high passions woke again, and pressed On to their mark; and in his friend's clear eye There dwelt no shadow of a dream gone by; And, with the brethren of his fields, the feast Was gay as when the voice whose sounds had ceased Mingled with theirs. Even thus life's rushing tide Bears back affection from the grave's dark side!—