Through the wide forest and the mantling night,
Sped breathlessly again. They pass’d; but he,
The stateliest of a host—alas! to see
What mother’s eyes have watch’d in rosy sleep,
Till joy, for very fulness, turn’d to weep,
Thus changed!—a fearful thing! His golden crest
Was shiver’d, and the bright scarf on his breast—
Some costly love-gift—rent: but what of these?
There were the clustering raven locks—the breeze,
As it came in through lime and myrtle flowers,