'But see!--what makes this armour here?'--
For in her path there lay
Targe, corslet, helm;--she view'd them near.--
'The breast-plate pierced!--Ay, much I fear,
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 135
That hath made fatal entrance here,
As these dark blood-gouts say.--
Thus Wilton!--Oh! not corslet's ward,
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard,
Could be thy manly bosom's guard, 140
On yon disastrous day!'--
She raised her eyes in mournful mood,--
WILTON himself before her stood!
It might have seem'd his passing ghost,
For every youthful grace was lost; 145
And joy unwonted, and surprise,
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.--
Expect not, noble dames and lords,
That I can tell such scene in words:
What skilful limner e'er would choose 150
To paint the rainbow's varying hues,
Unless to mortal it were given
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven?
Far less can my weak line declare
Each changing passion's shade; 155
Brightening to rapture from despair,
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there,
And joy, with her angelic air,
And hope, that paints the future fair,
Their varying hues display'd: 160
Each o'er its rival's ground extending,
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending,
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield,
And mighty Love retains the field,
Shortly I tell what then he said, 165
By many a tender word delay'd,
And modest blush, and bursting sigh,
And question kind, and fond reply:--