Their songs of the sword and the olden time;
And a solemn thrill, as the harp-chords rung,
Had breathed from the walls where the bright spears hung.
But the swell was gone from the quivering string,
They had summon’d a softer voice to sing;
And a captive girl, at the warriors’ call,
Stood forth in the midst of that frowning hall.
Lonely she stood,—in her mournful eyes
Lay the clear midnight of southern skies;
And the drooping fringe of their lashes low