And her eye, though tearful, serenely meek;
And I deem’d, by its lifted gaze of love,
That her sad heart’s treasure was all above.
For alone she seem’d midst the throng to be,
Like a bird of the waves far away at sea;
Alone, in a mourner’s vest array’d,
And with folded hands, e’en as if she pray’d.
It faded before me, that mask of pride,
The haughty swell of the music died;
Banner, and armour, and tossing plume,