IX.
With mournful step and fun’ral wail,
They bear the baron bold;
No more he’ll need his war-proof mail,
No more his massive hold.
De Lopez did not fall in vain,
For, as he fell, with might and main,
While yet in death he fainter grew,
He thrust the bloody baron through.
They lay the baron by a running stream,
Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot;
But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleam
Surrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot.
A monument of marble pale,
Marks where De Lopez fell;
For him arose no kindred wail,
He lies secure from fiendish spell.
And they have carv’d a gallant knight,
Stretch’d on that tomb so pale,
Still in his stainless arms bedight,
Still clad in marble mail.
’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray,
Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay,
A saint-like spirit you may see,
With marriage robe, and bended knee,
Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre.
Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face,
And shed a lonely tear,
Then look to heav’n—to ask the grace
That was denied him here.
R.