THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
77
With half a song and half a sigh
The rippling waves went murmuring by.
The loosened sails were lightly stirr'd,
Like wings of some lone forest bird
That cannot sweep from spray to spray,
Nor waken music on its way.
While all around seems spell or sleep,
Why doth that dark page turn and weep?
Ah! never yet was scene so fair,
But some heart watched in its despair.
The ranks are set, the hosts are met,
The morning sunbeams shine
O'er tents with dews of night-fall wet
O'er the long warrior line.
By heaven it is a glorious thing
Upon the gallant steed to spring,
