How goes the battle, soon myself shall tell;
One kiss—one more—now, Clara, fare thee well!”
IX.
He watched her glide reluctant from the hall,
Then snatched an unsheathed sabre from the wall,
One instant’s glance around the chamber cast,
Where sleep so many that have slept their last;
“Rouse ye, my mates!” Upspringing at the sound,
From their rough couch the startled warriors bound,
Noiseless they start, and all prepared they stand,