’Tis fearful odds, my Clara, but away,
Awhile at least we’ll hold their ranks at bay.”
Around her slender waist his arm he flung,
And lightly through the opened door he sprung,
Noiseless behind the heavy portal turns,
Before him still that glimmering taper burns;
He reached the centre of that chamber wide,
Where slumber still his warriors side by side—
“Now to your chamber haste, my Clara, haste,
For life hangs on each moment that we waste!