When the bold barons met in my father’s old hall,
Was not Edith the flower of the banquet and ball?
In the festival hour, on the lips of your bride,
Was there ever a smile save with Thee at my side?
Alone in my turret I loved to sit best,
To blazon your Banner and ’broider your crest.
The knights were assembled, the tourney was gay!
Sir Ulric rode first in the warrior-mélée.
In the dire battle hour, when the tourney was done,
And you gave to another the wreath you had won!