Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/215

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Shedding their pale armour's light Forth upon the breathless night, Bending every warlike plume In the prayer o'er saintly tomb.

Is the noble Douglas nigh, Arm'd to follow thee, or die? Now, true heart, as thou wert wont, Pass thou to the peril's front! Where the banner-spear is gleaming, And the battle's red wine streaming, Till the Paynim quail before thee, Till the cross wave proudly o'er thee;— —Dreams! the falling of a leaf Wins me from their splendours brief; Dreams, yet bright ones! scorn them not, Thou that seek'st the holy spot; Nor, amidst its lone domain, Call the faith in relics vain!