The baron takes the ladye’s hand.

Jesu Maria! what muffled form,

Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm?

His helm is gone, but a lifeless rose

On his steel-clad bosom finds repose.

’Tis wither’d and faded quite away,

Still lies it there; as, in former day,

It shone a terror to his foes.

The baron breathes convulsively,

He knows the stranger knight