The drum—it drowned the last adieu,
When D'Arcy from the crowd she drew.
“ One charge I have, and one alone,
Nor that refuse to take,
My father-if not for his own,
Oh for his daughter's sake!"
Inly he vowed—'twas all he could;
And went and sealed it with his blood.
Nor can ye wonder. When a child,
And in her playfulness she smiled,
Up many a ladder-path * he guided
Where meteor-like the chamois glided,
Thro' many a misty grove.
They loved—but under Friendship's name;
And Reason, Virtue fanned the flame,
Till in their houses Discord came,
And 'twas a crime to love.
Then what was Jacqueline to do?
Her father's angry hours she knew,
And when to soothe, and when persuade;
But now her path De Courcy crossed,
Led by his falcon through the glade-
He turned, beheld, admired the maid;
And all her little arts were lost!
De Courcy, Lord of Argentiere!
Thy poverty, thy pride, St. Pierre,
Thy thirst for vengeance sought the snare.
* Called in the language of the country Pas-de-l'Echelle.