Blushing like the rose's flower Opening to the day; And round the Champion's brows were bound The crown that Druidess had wound, Of the green laurel-bay. Motionless a while he stands, Folds his arms and clasps his hands, Doubtful how he should destroy Long-enduring spell; Doubtful, too, when slowly rise What these eyes shall tell.- XXXIX. Gently, lo! the Warrior kneels, Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder! Gyneth startles from her sleep, But beneath their mystic rocks, In the arms of bold De Vaux, Safe and free from magic power, And round the Champion's brows were bound Of the green laurel-bay. And this was what remain'd of all The Garland and the Dame: But where should Warrior seek the meed, Due to high worth for daring deed, Except from LOVE and FAME! CONCLUSION. I. My Lucy, when the Maid is won, That to his dregs the tale should run, Our lovers, briefly be it said, When tale or play is o'er; Lived long and blest, loved fond and true, The honours that they bore. His That fairy fortress often mocks 'Tis now a vain illusive show, That melts whene'er the sunbeams glow, Or the fresh breeze hath blown. |