Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/102

68 Long ere the first loud trumpet's note is heard,

Ne vacant space for lated wight is found:

Here Dons, Grandees, but chiefly Dames abound,

Skilled in the ogle of a roguish eye,

Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound;

None through their cold disdain are doomed to die,

As moon-struck bards complain, by Love's sad archery.

LXXIII.

Hushed is the din of tongues—on gallant steeds,

With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance,

Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,

And lowly-bending to the lists advance;