66
THE TROUBADOUR.
And with bended knee, and forehead bare,
Save its cloud of raven hair,
And beautiful as some wild star
Come in its glory and light from afar,
With his dark eyes flashing stern and bright,
And his cheek o'erflooded with crimson light,
And the foeman's banner over his head,
His first field's trophy proudly spread,
Knelt Raymond down his boon to name,—
The knightly spurs he so well might claim:
And a softness stole to De Valence's eyes,
As he bade the new-made knight arise.—
From his own belt he took the brand,
And gave it into Raymond's hand,
And said it might a memory yield
Of his father's friend, and his own first field.
