WARRIOR! whose image on thy tomb, With shield and crested head, Sleep soundly in the purple gloom By the stained window shed; The records of thy name and race Have faded from the stone, Yet, through a cloud of years, I trace What thou hast been and done. A banner, from its flashing spear, Flung out o'er many a fight; A war-cry ringing far and clear, And strong to turn the flight; An arm that bravely bore the lance On for the holy shrine; A haughty heart and a kingly glance -- Chief! were not these things thine? A lofty place where leaders sate Around the council board; In festal halls a chair of state When the blood-red wine was poured: A name that drew a prouder tone From herald, harp, and bard: Surely these things were all thine own -- So hadst thou thy reward. Woman! whose sculptured form at rest By the armed knight is laid, With meek hands folded o'er a breast In matron robes arrayed; What was thy tale? -- O gentle mate Of him, the bold and free, Bound unto his victorious fate, What bard hath sung of thee? He wooed a bright and burning star -- Thine was the void, the gloom, The straining eye that followed far His fast-receding plume; The heart-sick listening while his steed Sent echoes on the breeze; The pang -- but when did Fame take heed Of griefs obscure as these? Thy silent and secluded hours Through many a lonely day While bending o'er thy broidered flowers, With spirits far away; Thy weeping midnight prayers for him Who fought on Syrian plains, Thy watchings till the torch grew dim -- These fill no minstrel strains. A still, sad life was thine! -- long years With tasks unguerdoned fraught -- Deep, quiet love, submissive tears, Vigils of anxious thought; Prayer at the cross in fervor poured, Alms to the pilgrim given -- Oh! happy, happier than thy lord, In that lone path to heaven! |