’Tis known to-night in Elva camps thy host,
Few, worn, asleep—unarmed and weak the post—
Thus ran their words, and much they talked of gold,
And chieftains by repentant rebels sold;
Unseen myself, I heard their counsel; fear
Has winged my steps to warn thee—I am here.”
Kindly he smiled—“And didst thou dare, dear maid,
For one like me, the midnight forest’s shade?
Thy robes are torn and wet, thy parched lips dry.
And a wild fire is glancing in thine eye—