In sooth, a gallant, goodly band;
On high the torches flash and wave,
Showing pillar and architrave,
And arch and gothic window fair,
And, hanging high in the cold night air,
Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there.
But who are these, at dead of night,
That would perform this holy rite?
Who, I pray, but the baron bold,
And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold?