Their arms oft bowed the Moslem’s haughty crest.
They fell together—bravest of the brave,
And found in that bright land a common grave.
“’Twas Autumn—and the morning like a bride—
The last for her!—came forth in fair array;
‘My plighted love!’ her faithful Sveno cried—
‘Seek not with me—seek not the fight to-day!
Fierce slaughter waits to roll his crimson tide—
Oh, save thyself! nor tempt the dangerous fray!’
She listened not;—they fell among the brave,