Page:Records of Woman.pdf/147

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The floating song. Strange sounds!—the trumpet's peal, Made hollow by the rocks; the clash of steel, The rallying war-cry.—In the mountain-pass, There had been combat; blood was on the grass, Banners had strewn the waters; chiefs lay dying, And the pine-branches crashed before the flying.

And all was chang'd within the still retreat, Costanza's home:—there enter'd hurrying feet, Dark looks of shame and sorrow; mail-clad men, Stern fugitives from that wild battle-glen, Scaring the ringdoves from the porch-roof, bore A wounded warrior in: the rocky floor Gave back deep echoes to his clanging sword, As there they laid their leader, and implor'd The sweet saint's prayers to heal him; then for flight. Thro' the wide forest and the mantling night, Sped breathlessly again.—They pass’d—but he, The stateliest of a host—alas! to see