The bridal of Vaumond A Metrical Romance |
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The bridal of Vaumond | ||
XVII.
Blow echoes blow—blood follows bloodBeneath war's iron hand,—
As from the black leaves of the wood
Where the unconscious hero stood
Upon the fatal strand.
And still the knights their ring made good,
That talisman left unsubdu'd
Their fealty to their native land.
Still urging where the tumult grows,
Th' avenging blade cleaves thickening foes—
Still from the gorge of earth they wake
In that fell revelry to partake—
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Show'd, each the rock's tall pinnacle
Amid the heaving wastes of ocean;
As firm against the wild commotion—
But wave on wave, with ceaseless sway,
Will wear the solid rock away!
The bridal of Vaumond | ||