Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 27 1830.pdf/4



Courage was cast about her like a dress Of solemn comeliness, A gather'd mind and an untroubled face Did give her dangers grace.

The sounds of the sea and the sounds of the night, And the hollow echoes of charge and flight, Were around Clotilde, as she knelt to pray In a chapel where the mighty lay, On the old Provençal shore; Many a Chatillon beneath, Unstirr'd by the ringing trumpet's breath, His shroud of armour wore.

And the glimpses of moonlight that went and came Through the clouds, like bursts of a dying flame, Gave quivering life to the slumbers pale Of stern forms couch'd in their marble mail, At rest on the tombs of the knightly race, The silent throngs of that burial-place.

They were imaged there with helm and spear, As leaders in many a bold career, And haughty their stillness look'd and high, Like a sleep whose dreams were of victory: But meekly the voice of the lady rose Through the trophies of their proud repose. Meekly, yet fervently, calling down aid, Under their banners of battle she pray'd; With her pale fair brow, and her eyes of love, Uprais'd to the Virgin's pourtray'd above, And her hair flung back, till it swept the grave Of a Chatillon with its gleamy wave. And her fragile frame, at every blast That full of the savage war-horn pass'd, Trembling as trembles a bird's quick heart, When it vainly strives from its cage to part,— So knelt she in her woe: A weeper alone with the tearless dead— Oh! they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed, Or the dust had stirr'd below!

Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone, Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan;— Is her Lord return'd with his conquering bands? No! a breathless vassal before her stands! —"Hast thou been on the field?—Art thou come from the host?" —"From the slaughter, Lady!—All, all is lost!