THEY came across the distant hills
With trumpet, pipe, and drum;
And all the air with welcome fills,
Which deepens as they come.

It flashes down the river-banks,
And broadens on the plain,
A voice of universal thanks
To greet them home again.

Tall Richard's brother spies him out,
A head above the crowd;
And sweetheart John is clasped about
By one who weeps aloud.

Wives find their husbands, sons their sires,
Each man they seek is there;
Ah! bright fulfilment of desires
Fast changing to despair!

Yet no! a pressure in the rear--
A something which they hide--
A long black something on a bier,
With cap and sword beside;--
A woman rushing, wild with fear,
To draw the veil aside!

And, when she saw the stricken face,
She did not weep or wail;
But just recoiled a little space,
And grew a shade more pale.

And in her eyes a terror strained,
And on her mouth there fell
The tremble of a spirit pained
More than the flesh could tell.

A sudden changing, past all speech,
That was not grief or fear,
Something which words will never reach--
The look when Death is near.

Though she was old and he was young,
And neither called by name,
By that death-light upon them flung,
Their faces were the same!

And all the happy, joyous crowd,
Struck with a sudden dread,
Turned, with a whisper growing loud,
To where she faced her dead.

And as she sank, with reverent hands
They laid her by her son:
For the dread Priest, whom nought withstands,
Had linked their years in one.