Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower,
Wherever she a sight can catch.
And now, in the blue distance far,
The pennon fades away;
Or, like some ling’ring, morning star,
That shines with doubtful ray,
’Tis now in view, now lost to sight,
As slowly wanes the yielding night.
Their gleaming helms and waving crests,
Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light,