She watched by the chill hearth's flickering light
Till the bell tolled twice through the black dead night.
Then cried, "Up, serving-men, sleep no more!
Help!—little maid Mignon lies drowned in gore."
*****
By the cross she lay dead, in the dead cold night,
But beside her her lantern was still alight!
II.
THE FOSTER BROTHER.
Of all the noble damsels, in all our Brittany,
Gwennola was the sweetest far, a maiden fair to see.
Scarce eighteen summers shed their gold upon her shapely head,
Yet all who loved the fair girl best were numbered with the dead—
Her father and her mother, and eke her sisters dear.
Ah! Mary, pity 'twas to see her shed the bitter tear
At her casement in the castle, where a step-dame now bare sway,
Her dim eyes fixed upon the sea, which glimmered far away.