THE YOUNG AVENGER.
169
They spurr'd their steeds, and on they dash'd, as sweeps the midnight wind;
While their youngest brother stood and wept that he must stay behind.
“Come here, my child," the father said, "and wherefore dost thou weep?
The time will come when from the fray naught shall my favourite keep;
When thou wilt be the first of all amid the hostile spears."
The boy shook back his raven hair, and laugh'd amid his tears.
The sun went down, but lance nor shield reflected back his light;
The moon rose up, but not a sound broke on the rest of night.
