The Epic

"To arms!" the battle bugles blew. The daughter of their Chief was she,-- Lord of a thousand spears and true;-- He but a squire of low degree.

The horns of war blew up to horse: He kissed her mouth; her face was white: "God grant they bear thee back no corse!" "God give I win my spurs to-night!"

The watch-towers' blazing beacons scarred With blood-red wounds the face of night: She heard men gallop battleward; She saw their armor gleam with light.

"My God, deliver me and mine! My child! my love!"--all night she prayed: She watched the battle beacons shine; She watched the battle beacons fade....

They brought him on a bier of spears.-- For him, the death-won spurs and name; For her, the grief of lonely years, And donjon walls to hide her shame.