And he—my chosen—was there amongst the rest,
With his young, glorious brow! I look’d again:
The strife grew dark beneath me—but his plume
Waved free above the lances. Yet again—
It had gone down! and steeds were trampling o’er
The spot to which mine eyes were riveted,
Till blinded by th’ intenseness of their gaze!—
And then—at last—I hurried to the gate,
And met him there!—I met him!—on his shield,
And with his cloven helm, and shiver’d sword,