勇气就像一件庄严而美丽的衣裳罩在她的身上，镇定的头脑和镇定的面孔赋予了她危险的优雅。——多恩。撒拉逊人的战调在法国的风中飘荡;它平息了吟游诗人的竖琴，平息了比武大会上长矛的碰撞。大海的声音，夜晚的声音，冲锋和逃跑的空洞回声，环绕着克洛蒂尔德，她跪在一个小教堂里祈祷，在古老的普罗旺斯海岸，那里有巨人安息;他身披铠甲，没有被嘹亮的号角吹动。月光在云雾中来来往往，像一团即将熄灭的火焰，给那些穿着大理石锁子甲、蜷伏在骑士的坟茔上、在那坟地沉默的人群上的、苍白的严正身躯的昏睡带来了颤动的生命。他们被描绘成带着头盔和长矛的形象，就像许多勇敢事业的领导者，他们的沉默看起来傲慢而高亢，就像一个梦想着胜利的睡眠。但夫人的声音温顺地从他们骄傲的安息的战利品中响起;她温顺而热情地呼唤援助，在他们的战斗旗帜下祈祷;她那白皙的额头，她那充满爱意的眼睛，高高举起，望着上面描绘的圣母，她的头发向后一甩，用它那闪闪发光的波浪，扫过一头夏龙的坟墓。 And her fragile frame, at every blast, That full of the savage war-horn passed, Trembling, as trembles a bird's quick heart, When it vainly strives from its cage to part - So knelt she in her woe; A weeper alone with the tearless dead - Oh! they reck not of tears o'er their quiet shed, Or the dust that stirred below! Hark! a swift step! she hath caught its tone, Through the dash of the sea, through the wild wind's moan Is her lord returned with his conquering bands? No! a breathless vassal before her stands! - 'Hast thou been on the field? - Art thou come from the host?' - 'from the slaughter, lady! - All, all is lost! Our banners are taken, our knights laid low, Our spearmen chased by the Paynim foe; And thy lord,' his voice took a sadder sound- 'Thy lord - he is not on the bloody ground! There are those who tell that the leader's plume Was seen on the flight through the gathering gloom.' - A change o'er her mien and her spirit passed; She ruled the heart which had beat so fast, She dashed the tears from her kindling eye, With a glance, as of sudden royalty: The proud blood sprang in a fiery flow, Quick o'er bosom, and cheek, and brow, And her young voice rose till the peasant shook At the thrilling tone and the falcon-look: - 'dost thou stand by the tombs of the glorious dead, And fear not to say that their son hath fled? Away! he is lying by lance and shield, - Point me the path to his battle-field!' The shadows of the forest Are about the lady now; She is hurrying through the midnight on, Beneath the dark pine-bough. There's a murmur of omens in every leaf, There's a wail in the stream like the dirge of a chief; The branches that rock to the tempest strife Are groaning like things of troubled life; The wind from the battle seems rushing by With a funeral-march through the gloomy sky The pathway is rugged, and wild, and long, But her fame in the daring of love is strong, And her soul as on swelling seas upborne, And girded all fearful things to scorn. And fearful things were around her spread, When she reached the field of the warrior dead. There lay the noble, the valiant, low - Ay! but one word speaks of deeper woe; There lay the loved - on each fallen head Mothers' vain blessings and tears had shed; Sisters were watching in many a home For the fettered footstep, no more to come; Names in the prayer of that night were spoken, Whose claim unto kindred prayer was broken; And the fire was heaped, and the bright wine poured For those, now needing nor hearth nor board; Only a requiem, a shroud, a knell, And oh! ye beloved of women, farewell! Silently, with lips compressed, Pale hands clasped above her breast, Stately brow of anguish high, Deathlike cheek, but dauntless eye; Silently, o'er that red plain, Moved the lady 'midst the slain. Sometimes it seemed as a charging cry, Or the ringing tramp of a steed, came nigh; Sometimes a blast of the Paynim horn, Sudden and shrill from the mountain's borne; And her maidens trembled; - but on her ear No meaning fell with those sounds of fear; They had less of mastery to shake her now, Than the quivering, erewhile, of an aspen-bough. She searched into many an unclosed eye, That looked, without soul, to the starry sky; She bowed down o'er many a s