There are helms and lances cleft;
And they that moved at morn elate
On a bed of heath are left!
There’s many a fair young face
Which the war-steed hath gone o’er;
At many a board there is kept a place
For those that come no more!”
“Alas! for love, for woman’s breast,
If woe like this must be!
Hast thou seen a youth with an eagle-crest,