Pages 81-84
AYMER'S TOMB.
BY MRS. HEMANS.
There went a warrior's funeral through the night,
A waving of tall plumes, a ruddy light
Of torches, fitfully and wildly thrown,
From the high woods, along the sweeping Rhone,
Far down the waters. Heavily and dead,
Under the moaning trees, the horse-hoof's tread
In muffled sounds upon the green-sward fell,
As chieftains passed; and solemnly the swell
Of the deep requiem, o'er the gleaming river
Borne with the gale, and, with the leaves' low shiver,
Floated and died. Proud mourners there, yet pale,
Wore man's mute anguish sternly; but of One,
Oh! who shall speak?—what words his brow unveil?—
A father following to the grave his son!—
That is no grief to picture! Sad and slow,
Through the wood-shadows moved the knightly train,
With youth's fair form upon the bier laid low,—
Fair even when found, amidst the bloody slain,
