Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/35

Rh

There is no plumed head o'er the bier to bend, No brother of battle, no princely friend; No sound comes back like the sounds of yore, Unto sweeping swords from the marble floor; By the red fountain the valiant lie, The flower of Provençal chivalry, But one free step, and one lofty heart, Bear through that scene, to the last, their part.