To Arms! The Battle Bugles Blew. The Daughter Of Their Earl Was She, Lord Of A Thousand Swords And True; He But A Squire Of Low Degree. The Horns Of War Blew Up To Horse: He Kissed Her Mouth; Her Face Was White; "God Grant They Bear Thee Back No Corse!" - "God Give I Win My Spurs To-Night!" Each Watch-Tower'S Blazing Beacon Scarred A Blood-Blot In The Wounded Dark: She Heard Knights Gallop Battleward, And From The Turret Leaned To Mark. "My God, Deliver Me And Mine! My Child! My God!" All Night She Prayed: She Saw The Battle Beacons Shine; She Saw The Battle Beacons Fade. They Brought Him On A Bier Of Spears. - For Him - The Death-Won Spurs And Name; For Her - The Sting Of Secret Tears, And Convent Walls To Hide Her Shame.