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Rh

While he who own'd her plighted hand Was fighting in the Holy Land. The youthful knight with his gay crest, His ladye's scarf upon a breast Whose truth was kept, come life, come death,— Alas! has modern love such faith? I thought how in the moon-lit hour The minstrel hymn'd his maiden's bower, His helm and sword changed for the lute And one sweet song to urge his suit. Floated around me moated hall, And donjon keep, and frowning wall; I saw the marshall'd hosts advance, I gazed on banner, brand, and lance; The murmur of a low song came Bearing one only worshipp'd name;