With trembling hand she dashed the locks away,
And from her damp brow swept the glittering spray,
“And have we met, and most we part—alas!
Must this long looked for bliss so quickly pass?
Patience, my heart—” and then the accents broke
In calmer tones, though hurriedly she spoke;
“Gilbert, within Gleneden’s halls to-night
Are armed forms that counsel hold of fight;
In ruthless hands are weapons bared for strife,
I scarce need tell thee what they seek—thy life.