“My love so soon, that was so brave erewhile?”—
“I care not for myself but thee, for saith
“The general voice, tis fatal.”—“See, I smile”—
“Oh God, if aught befal thee, Death may light his pile.”
V.
A trumpet sounded. “’Tis the summons—hark,”
Quoth William. Blanca straight grew lily-pale.
He kist her thrice, then leapt from out the bark.
“Fear not,” he said. “To-morrow without fail
“We meet,” then flew with heart unused to quail.