THE FALCON.
41
A blessing after him was all
My distant lip could send.
Curse on the feeble arm that hung
Then useless by my side!
I lay before my tent and watch'd
Onwards the warriors ride.
De Valance he was first of all,
Upon his foam-white steed;
Never knight curb'd more gallantly
A fiery courser's speed.
His silver armour shone like light,
In the young morning's ray;
And around his helm the snowy plume
Danced like the ocean spray.
Sudden a bird burst through the air,—
I knew his falcon's flight;
