The Lady Hildegarde.

"Near dwelt the beauteous Edith,
A lowly maiden she--"
Ah! still unmoved, her dark sweet eyes
Looked far away from me.

"Dearer to him one blossom small
That had but touched her hand,
Than all the high-born beauties--
The ladies of the land.

"Dearer to him," quick came my breath
As I looked down on her,
But the white roses in her hand
No lightest leaf did stir.

Ah! wistfully I read her face,
Full gently did I speak,
No light dawned in her tender eye,
No flush stole o'er her cheek.

"He wore her colors on the field,
He went where brave hearts were;
Ah, gallantly and nobly
He fought for love of her.

"He loved her with his whole true heart,"
Now like a sudden flame
Up to her cheek so pure and white,