Page:Poems by William Wordsworth (1815) Volume 1.djvu/380

320 'Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace!

He is come to claim his right:

Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains

Hear the challenge with delight.

Hubert! though the blast be blown

He is helpless and alone:

Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word!

And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Lord.

Speak!—astounded Hubert cannot;

And if power to speak he had,

All are daunted, all the household

Smitten to the heart, and sad.

'Tis Sir Eustace; if it be

Living Man, it must be he!

Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,

And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of:

To his Brother then he came,

Made confession, ask'd forgiveness,

Ask'd it by a Brother's name,

And by all the saints in heaven;

And of Eustace was forgiv'n:

Then in a Convent went to hide

His melancholy head, and there he died.