SIR WALTER returned from the far Holy Land, And a blood-tinctured falchion he bore; But such precious blood as now darkened his sword Had never distained it before. Fast fluttered his heart as his own castle towers He saw on the mountain’s green height; “My wife, and my son!” he exclaimed, while his tears Obscured for some moments his sight. For terror now whispered, the wife he had left Full fifteen long twelvemonths before, The child he had claspt in his farewel embrace, Might both, then , alas! be no more. Then, sighing, he thought of his Editha’s tears As his steed bore him far from her sight, And her accents of love, while she fervently cried, “Great God! guard his life in the fight!” And then he remembered, in language half formed How his child strove to bid him adieu; While scarcely he now can believe, as a man, That infant may soon meet his view. But should he not live!….To escape from that fear, He eagerly spurred his bold steed: Nor stopped he again, till his own castle moat Forbade on the way to proceed. ‘T was day-break: yet still past the windows he saw Busy forms lightly trip to and fro: Blest sight! that she lives,” he exclaimed with smile, “Those symptoms of housewifery show: “For, stranger to sloth, and on business intent, The dawn calls her forth from her bed; And see, through the castle, all busy appear, By her to their duty still led.”