Months and years, it may be, shall flow over thy head;
Thy people will mourn thee, believing thee dead;
But now, and forever, there beats in one heart
Devotion, that living, shall thence never part.
Cœur de Lion, farewell! But again, when at eve
The world sunk in slumber, thy gaolers believe,
O then, 'neath these battlements sternly that frown,
I'll weep for thy wrongs, and I'll sing thy renown.
King of England, farewell! for the night falleth fast,
And I hear the dull tramp of the sentry at last.