Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/55

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It seem'd as desperate he rush'd, And fought, and fell alone. The helm, with its white plumes, was off; The silver shield blood-stain'd; But yet within the red right hand The broken sword remain'd. That night I watch'd beside, and kept The hungry wolves away, And twice the falcon's beak was dipp'd In blood of birds of prey. The morning rose, another step With mine was on the plain; A hermit, who with pious aid Sought where life might remain. We made there a grave, The spot which now he prest;