Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/317



is come from the land of the sword and shrine, From the sainted battles of Palestine; The snow-plumes wave o'er his victor crest, Like a glory the red cross hangs at his breast. His courser is black as black can be, Save the brow star white as the foam of the sea, And he wears a scarf of 'broidery rare, The last love-gift of his lady fair: