Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/30

22

—Away! he is lying by lance and shield,— Point me the path to his battle-field!"

There's a murmur of omens in every leaf, There's a wail in the stream like the dirge of a chief; The branches that rock to the tempest-strife, Are groaning like things of troubled life; The wind from the battle seems rushing by With a funeral march through the gloomy sky; The pathway is rugged, and wild, and long, But her frame in the daring of love is strong, And her soul as on swelling seas upborne, And girded all fearful things to scorn.

And fearful things were around her spread, When she reach'd the field of the warrior-dead;