Ay, let him come—my band, in one short hour, Shall equal his, whate’er may be his power, For long before these hills shall hail the dawn, Five hundred blades shall glance on Elva’s lawn; Even now, methinks, the bugles faint I hear, Which warn their leader that his troops draw near. But thou, my gentle love, thou ill may’st brook On scenes of battle and of blood to look! Small refuge can these feeble walls afford From war’s rude shocks, the musket and the sword.” Fierce flashed her eye, and proudly rose her head— “Think not my woman’s heart so weak,” she said— “No, from this hour, whatever fate betide, My post is ever by my Gilbert’s side. Mine were thy wrongs, my vengeance shall be thine, Through danger or success, thy path be mine!” “A thousand thanks, my Clara, for that word! Thy voice has nerved my heart—has edged my sword! Nor deem thy lover weak—this peril past, On different scenes thine eyes thou soon shall cast, For in these wars my hand shall carve a name Whose sheen shall dim my sires’ ancestral fame— Enduring as the stars—and thou shall be, First in a land where every heart is free—” Quick he breaks off—for glancing through the trees, Rank after rank of bayonets bright he sees. “Clara! they come—the blood-hounds would not wait The morning light, so eager burns their hate; ’Tis fearful odds, my Clara, but away, Awhile at least we’ll hold their ranks at bay.” Around her slender waist his arm he flung, And lightly through the opened door he sprung, Noiseless behind the heavy portal turns, Before him still that glimmering taper burns; He reached the centre of that chamber wide, Where slumber still his warriors side by side— “Now to your chamber haste, my Clara, haste, For life hangs on each moment that we waste! How goes the battle, soon myself shall tell; One kiss—one more—now, Clara, fare thee well!” IX.