The bridal of Vaumond A Metrical Romance |
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 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
VI.
Forth from his selle the baron boldSprang in his coat of burning gold.
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And bore on high the blessed wood,
Type of a suffering Saviour's wo,
Endur'd for guilty race below.
All vainly,—the accuser said,
For dark Vaumond that blood was shed!—
The old men who should doom award
Fix'd on the chief their stern regard;
And every knight's indignant look
Fell on him who his faith forsook.
Unbending, proud, amid his peers
His stalworth form Vaumond uprears;
With a swift glance, his eagle eye
Scann'd all the awful pageantry,
Then fix'd in sullen majesty.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |