O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, <br />And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, <br />All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow, <br />Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. <br />'O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; <br />Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, <br />My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!' <br /> <br />All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, <br />With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, <br />Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle, <br />And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. <br />Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary; <br />Slowly approaching a warrior was seen; <br />Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, <br />Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. <br /> <br />'O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! <br />O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! <br />Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying, <br />Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, <br />And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with despair: <br />And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, <br />For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair.<br /><br />Sir Walter Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-maid-of-toro/
