34
THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
Reading new promise in the sky,
And hearing Hope, the lark on high.
But what must morning be to those
Who sleep impatient of repose,
The hand upon the spear and shield
Which wait the morrow's glorious field.
The tournament, where Venice asks
All who delight in honour's tasks.
The Count Leoni sees his band
With helm on head and spear in hand,
And proud, he marked the sunbeams shine
Over the long embattled line,
And said, exulting, "They are mine!"
No chief were he who could have eyed
Such soldiers without chieftain's pride!
