Page:The Siege of Valencia.pdf/222

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The strife grew dark beneath me—but his plume Waved free above the lances.—Yet again— —It had gone down! and steeds were trampling o'er The spot to which mine eyes were riveted, Till blinded by th' intenseness of their gaze! —And then—at last—I hurried to the gate, And met him there!—I met him!—on his shield, And with his cloven helm, and shiver'd sword, And dark hair steep'd in blood!—They bore him past— Mother!—I saw his face!—Oh! such a death Works fearful changes on the fair of earth, The pride of woman's eye!

Sweet daughter, peace! Wake not the dark remembrance; for thy frame——

—There will be peace ere long. I shut my heart, Even as a tomb, o'er that lone silent grief, , That I might spare it thee!—But now the hour Is come when that which would have pierced thy soul Shall be its healing balm. Oh! weep thou not, Save with a gentle sorrow!

Must it be? Art thou indeed to leave me?