Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/379

319 Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace!

Nor of him were tidings heard.

Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer

Back again to England steer'd.

To his Castle Hubert sped;

He has nothing now to dread.

But silent and by stealth he came,

And at an hour which nobody could name.

None could tell if it were night-time,

Night or day, at even or morn;

For the sound was heard by no one

Of the proclamation-horn.

But bold Hubert lives in glee:

Months and years went smilingly;

With plenty was his table spread;

And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.

Likewise he had Sons and Daughters;

And, as good men do, he sate

At his board by these surrounded,

Flourishing in fair estate.

And, while thus in open day

Once he sate, as old books say,

A blast was utter'd from the Horn,

Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn.