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Electrotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Co., Boston.




WITH Storm of bells, and trumpets' bray, and rattle of the drum,

Along the city's narrow street the mail-clad warriors come: The sunlight shines on gleaming steel, and lances laid in


And brilliant plumes float gayly out from many a lordly


The pennons flutter in the wind as onward sweep the bands,

While snowy kerchiefs idly fall from dainty jewelled hands. From open casements looking down, their faces sad and still,

The women watch the brave array ride on beyond the hill.

They see the wheat-fields waving there, rich with the harvest's gold;

They see the river's silver flood amid the orchards rolled; And far away, where darkly green the forest faintly shows, They see the glittering line that marks the white tents of their foes.

Last eve the castle's hall was bright with torches flaming high,

And red wine flowed, and merry jest met quick and keen reply;

The carven saints that graced each arch heard laughter clear and sweet,

And echoed through the shadows dim the music's rhythmic.


Ere morning came with crimson flush along the eastern sky,

They heard, as swift hoofs smote the pave, the loud alarum


And fast and furious o'er the stones the patrol bore his


Calling the knights to waken, and make ready for the fray.

Then cold and white the faces grew, so bright the night before,

And maids and matrons trembling thronged about each open door.

"Whence come the foe? who leads them on? How many may there be?"

The sweet lips ask, while in each hall the arming knights you see.

"Who leads them on? Count Eberhard. None else would dare to ride

So many miles beyond the gleam of Rhine's swift flowing tide.

How many lances may there be? A thousand stalwart knights,

Whose helms and swords the harvest show, won in a hundred fights."

No wonder that the women stand with kerchiefs hanging


For, when Count Eberhard takes horse, God save the smitten town!

From Basel to the Zuyder Zee his foray tracks are known By burning homes and ruined lives, by tear and sob and


But brave and stout the horsemen are who guard fair Valure's walls;

Their hearts and blades will never fail when love or duty calls;

And though Count Eberhard sweeps on, with knights both tried and true,

Ere Valure's spoil will own his sway, his men have much to do.

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