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LEGENDARY FRAGMENTS.
175
Yet the knight held his breath to hear—
Her last word was his name.
He flung him by the pallet's side,
He raised her fainting head;
Her fair hair fell around his arm,
He gazed upon the dead.
*****
'T is an old church, the Gothic aisles
See but the evening sun;
All light, except a fading light,
Would seem too glad a one.
For the dark pines close o'er the roof
Which sanctifies the dead,
And on the dim and sculptured walls
Only their names are read;
And in the midst a marble form
Is laid, as if to rest;
And meekly are the graceful arms
Folded upon the breast.
An old monk tells her history,
And ends as I do now,
"Oh, never yet could happiness
Dwell with a broken vow!"
