But they were fearful 'twould becalm them;
Cried Love, on dews of morning stray,—
They deem'd 'twould from their purpose charm them.
Cried Friendship, try the ruby tide,—
They did—each obstacle departs;
'Tis still with wine 'reft hearts will glide
Most surely unto kindred hearts.
THE PILGRIM PRINCE.—BALLAD.
At blush of morn, the silver horn
Was loudly blown at the castle gate;