And a proud smile shone o’er her pale despair,
As she turn’d to his followers—“Your lord is there!
Look on him! know him by scarf and crest!—
Bear him away with his sires to rest!”
Another day, another night,
And the sailor on the deep
Hears the low chant of a funeral rite
From the lordly chapel sweep.
It comes with a broken and muffled tone,
As if that rite were in terror done;