Round him crush the people, crying,
"Tell us all--oh, tell us true!
Where are they who went to battle,
Randolph Murray, sworn to you?
Where are they, our brothers--children?
Have they met the English foe?
Why art thou alone, unfollowed?
Is it weal, or is it woe?"
Like a corpse the grisly warrior
Looks from out his helm of steel;
But no word he speaks in answer--
Only with his armed heel
Chides his weary steed, and onward
Up the city streets they ride;
Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,
Shrieking, praying by his side.
"By the God that made thee, Randolph!
Tell us what mischance hath come."
Then he lifts his riven banner,
And the asker's voice is dumb.
[Illustration: "_Tell us all--oh, tell us true!_"]