"Ere the mid watche of this night is past, "Sir Adomar thou shalt see at last,

"Thy time of grief is o'er."

Shee stayed not longer parlance there;
But, blithe as wild birde in sunnie aire,
Shee hasted down the winding staire

To the barbican's narrowe dore.

"Now, warder, speed; the gate set ope
"To yon blest wight that bringes mee hope,
"Faire greeting to him bee done."

The warder hath hasted to greet that knighte:
But, when he looked forthe in the wan moonelight,
Before the gate there stood no wight;

Man saw hee never one.

"Ladie, thy troubled thoughts have straied; "Thine eyes were cheated by a shade.

"None have sought entrance here."

To her chamber lone againe shee hies,
With tottering step, in woeful wise.

Full sore shee weepes; full sore shee sighs;
Her thoughts are thoughts of feare.

Now harke! againe, right soone, shee heares

That knocking sounde, with startled eares,
From the turret window smalle.

Again shee lookes; again shee sees
Him shee had seen beneath the trees.
Is it a shipwrecked man of the seas

That there for aide would calle?

"O Ladie, haste. The night wanes late; "The dawne is neare; I may not waite.

"Faine would I speak with thee." Downe, with right speedie step, shee's gone: "Be thou a man of fleshe and bone,

"Or a spirit that wanders beneath the moone, "Sir knight, say thy tidinges to mee."

Shee spoke but none made answere there.
Shee looked but alle was still and dreare,
For the moone had set o'er the sea.
But shee felt the rush of a colde dampe blast;
A sad voice spoke her name in haste;
And shee deemed that by her a shadowe past.

"Saint Marie, rue on me!"

Her hearte grew colde, as the threshold stone. Againe to her chamber shee is gone:

But, as shee past in there,

Shee was ware of a knight, in harnesse bright, That went by her side; but his footsteppes light Were not like the tread of a warrior wight: They woke no sounde in aire.

On his stately helme shee knew the creste
Of the baron bolde that shee loved best;
And, on his dinted shield,

Shee saw Sir Adomar's blazonrie,

The eagle crowned, and crosses three,
In Heathennesse won right worthilie,
Alle in a blood-red field.

"Now haile to thee, brave Sir Adomar;
"Welcome be thou from the blessed warre."
"Haile to thee, ladie mine.

"I have kept my vowe, like a faithfull onc,
"And a fulle riche guerdon have I wonne.
"Afar, on the plaine of Ascalon,

"Beneathe the blessed Signe."

Hee raised his barred aventaile.

Oh, how his cheeke was worn and pale!

Oh, how his eye was dim!

His comelie lockes were stained with gore,

And a new wounde on his front hee bore.

I wot that ladie shook fulle sore,

Then, as shee gazed on him.

Hee stooped, and kissed her tearefull cheeke.
Why doth that gentle ladie shrieke,

And backe, affrighted, starte?

Why doth she sobbe and shudder stille?

Never was kisse of love so chille.

His lippes have sent an icie thrille

Backe to her beating hearte.

Downe shee sunk in deadlie swoone,

As one whose earthlie daies are done,

Whose bedde is the church-yarde molde.

Her damsels, at the dawn of day,

Came there to wake that ladie gay :

But in the breathlesse sleepe shee lay,

And shee woke not where they could beholde.

Shee woke above the starrie skie,

Among the saintes who dwelle on hie,

Where griefe can never light.

There Adomar his love did greet :

Sainte Marie, how his lookes were sweete!

In Paradise, when lovers meet,

The angels smile more bright!

In the abbaye-churche they made her grave;
And the monkes chaunt manie a holie stave,

As thither her corpse is borne:

But Adomar's clay unburied lay
On a bloodie plaine, fulle farre away,

To the wilde desert-beastes a prey,

And by hungrie vultures torne.

For eche Christian man that lay there colde,
Fulle twentie of Mahoune's liegemen bolde
Were stretched upon that plaine :

But the bandes of the Crosse no more may boaste
Of a knight so brave as him they loste,
When, foremost of King Richarde's hoste,

Sir Adomar there was slaine.