 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
I.
Home from the banquet, on the nightHe dar'd the Baron to the fight,
His troubled way bent Lodowice—
While madd'ning thoughts in tumult quick,
Like ocean's wild succeeding waves,
Each in its wild ascension raves,
Then, whelm'd for ever, sinks to rest,
Scatter'd on his tumultuous breast.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |