Page:Records of Woman.pdf/243

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Had he then fall'n as warriors fall, Where spear strikes fire with spear? Was there a banner for his pall, A buckler for his bier? Not so;—nor cloven shields nor helms Had strewn the bloody sod, Where he, the helpless lord of realms; Yielded his soul to God.

Were there not friends with words of cheer, And princely vassals nigh? And priests, the crucifix to rear Before the glazing eye? A peasant girl that royal head Upon her bosom laid, And, shrinking not for woman's dread, The face of death survey'd.