FAUCONSHAWE 



Solemn and stern were the words he spoke, 

 And he look'd at his lady's men, 



But his speech no answering echoes woke, 

 All were silent there and then, 



Till a clear, cold voice the silence broke : — 

 Lady Mabel cried, '^ Amen." 



His glance met hers, the twain stood hush'd, 

 With the dead between them there ; 



But the blood to her snowy temples rush't 

 Till it tinged the roots of her hair. 



Then paled, but a thin red streak still flush't 

 In the midst of her forehead fair. 



Four yeomen raised the corpse from the 

 ground, 



At a sign from Sir Hugh de Vere, 

 It was borne to the western turret round, 



And laid on a knightly bier, 

 With never a sob nor a mourning sound, — 



No friend to the dead was near. 



Yet that night was neither revel nor dance 



In the halls of Fauconshawe ; 



Men look'd askance with a doubtful glance 



At Sir Hugh, for they stood in awe 



63 



