On, minstrel, with thy song!
Troubadour continues the song.
“They are gone—they have all pass’d by!
They in whose wars I had borne my part,
They that I loved with a brother’s heart,
They have left me here to die!
Sound again, clarion! clarion, pour thy blast!
Sound, for the captive’s dream of hope is past!”
Aym. (starting up.) That was the lay he loved in our boyish days—
And he must die forsaken! No, by heaven!