 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
148
XVII.
The combat thickens — who beheld,Mingled their spirits with the field,
Which swelled or shrunk as rose or fell
The strokes that either sped,
Till vision, in its wearied cell,
Dimmed with that watch of dread!
But there was one, whose wedded heart,
Still yearning o'er her child,
Bore in that scene a greater part,
With blended feeling wild —
And while the Wife her lord confessed,
Through all his peril pained;
The Mother closer to her breast
Her clinging infant strained!
| The Legend of St. Loy | |