Oh! they reck not of tears o’er their quiet shed,
Or the dust had stirr’d below!
Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone,
Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind’s moan:
Is her lord return’d with his conquering bands?
No! a breathless vassal before her stands!
—“Hast thou been on the field?—Art thou come from the host?”
—“From the slaughter, lady!—All, all is lost!
Our banners are taken, our knights laid low,
Our spearmen chased by the Paynim foe;