For neighing steeds, and clashing spear,
And warlike bugle sounding.
She wept; but though he saw her tears,
He dreamt not he had wrought them,
But ween’d that woman’s idle fears,
Or silly woes, had brought them.
He left her then to weep alone,
And droop in secret sadness,
Like some fair lily early blown,
’Reft of the sunbeam’s gladness.