And her maidens trembled:—but on her ear
No meaning fell with those sounds of fear;
They had less of mastery to shake her now,
Than the quivering, erewhile, of an aspen bough.
She search'd into many an unclosed eye,
That look'd without soul to the starry sky;
She bow'd down o'er many a shatter'd breast,
She lifted up helmet and cloven crest—
Not there, not there he lay!
"Lead where the most hath been dared and done,
Where the heart of the battle hath bled,—lead on!"
And the vassal took the way.
He turn'd to a dark and lonely tree,
That waved o'er a fountain red;
Oh! swiftest there had the current free
From noble veins been shed.
Thickest there the spear-heads gleam'd,
And the scatter'd plumage stream'd,
And the broken shields were toss'd,
And the shiver'd lances cross'd,
And the mail-clad sleepers round
Made the harvest of that ground.
He was there! the leader amidst his band,
Where the faithful had made their last vain stand;
He was there! but affection's glance alone,
The darkly-changed in that hour had known;
With the falchion yet in his cold hand grasp'd,
And a banner of France to his bosom clasp'd,
And the form that of conflict bore fearful trace,
And the face—oh! speak not of that dead face!
As it lay to answer love's look no more,
Yet never so proudly loved before!
She quell'd in her soul the deep floods of woe,
The time was not yet for their waves to flow;
She felt the full presence, the might of death,
Yet there came no sob with her struggling breath,
And a proud smile shone o'er her pale despair,
As she turn'd to his followers—"Your Lord is there!
Look on him! know him by scarf and crest!
Bear him away with his sires to rest!"
Another day—another night
And the sailor on the deep
Hears the low chant of a funeral rite
From the lordly chapel sweep:
It comes with a broken and muffled tone,
As if that rite were in terror done,
Yet the song midst the seas hath a thrilling power,
And he knows 'tis a chieftain's burial-hour.
Hurriedly, in fear and woe,
Through the aisle the mourners go;
With a hush'd and stealthy tread,
Bearing on the noble dead,
Sheathed in armour of the field—
Only his wan face reveal'd,
