 | Poems |  |
19
BALLAD.
1
Oh! who is yon Baron that girds on his sword,To fight 'gainst the Scot for King Edward his lord?
Oh! who is yon ladie that cries in despair,
Wilt thou leave me behind, when Philippa is there?
Her prayer has been granted. See! onward they ride:
'Tis the Lord of Fitzavon and Edith his bride.
2
Hark! hear you the clash of the broad sword and targe?And see you bold Percy rush on to the charge?
Oh! who is yon warrior so loudly doth cry,
“On! on, merry England, we'll conquer or die?”
Oh! who the fair youth that still fights at his side?
'Tis the Lord of Fitzavon and Edith his bride.
23
3
The battle is o'er: mid the wounded and slain,Oh! who are yon two that lie stretched on the plain?
Their pale lips are clinging, but yield not a breath;
Their eyelids are closed, and their slumber is death!
'Tis love's fairest flower, 'tis chivalry's pride,
'Tis the Lord of Fitzavon and Edith his bride.
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