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warrior went forth in the morning light,— Waved like a meteor his plume of white, Scarce might his gauntleted hand restrain The steed that snorted beneath the rein; Yet curbed he its pride, for upon him there Gazed the dark eye of his ladye fair. She stood on the tower to watch him ride,— The maiden whose hand on his bosom had tied The scarf she had worked,—she saw him depart With a tearless eye, though a beating heart;