"Then bring me here a breastplate,
And a helm, before ye fly,
And I will gird my woman's form,
And on the ramparts die!
And the Boy whom I have borne for woe,
But never for disgrace,
Shall go within mine arms to death
Meet for his royal race.
"Look on him as he slumbers
In the shadow of the Lance!
Then go, and with the Cross forsake
The princely Babe of France!
But tell your homes ye left one heart
To perish undefiled;
A Woman and a Queen, to guard
Her Honour and her Child!"
Before her words they thrill'd, like leaves,
When winds are in the wood;
And a deepening murmur told of men
Roused to a loftier mood.
And her Babe awoke to flashing swords,
Unsheath'd in many a hand,
As they gather'd round the helpless One,
Again a noble band!
"We are thy warriors, Lady!
True to the Cross and thee!
The spirit of thy kindling words
On every sword shall be!
Rest, with thy fair child on thy breast,
Rest—we will guard thee well.
St Dennis for the Lily-flower,
And the Christian citadel!"
Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 30 1831.pdf/6
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