Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/28

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Meekly, yet fervently, calling down aid, Under their banners of battle she pray'd; With her pale fair brow, and her eyes of love, Upraised to the Virgin's pourtray'd above, And her hair flung back, till it swept the grave Of a Chatillon with its gleamy wave. And her fragile frame, at every blast, That full of the savage war-horn pass'd, Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart, When it vainly strives from its cage to part,— So knelt she in her woe; A weeper alone with the tearless dead— Oh! they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed, Or the dust had stirr'd below!

Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone, Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan;— Is her lord return'd with his conquering bands? No! a breathless vassal before her stands!