An instant in this porch she staid, XXVII. My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, For all around, the walls to grace, A battle-axe, a hunting spear, And broad-swords, bows, and arrows store, With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. Here grins the wolf as when he died, And there the wild cat's brindled hide Or mantles o'er the bison's horns; And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, To garnish forth the sylvan hall. XXVIII. The wondering Stranger round him gazed, And as the brand he poised and sway'd, She sigh'd, then smiled and took the word; "You see the guardian champion's sword: As light it trembles in his hand, As in my grasp a hazel wand; My sire's tall form might grace the part Of Ferragus, or Ascabart; But in the absent giant's hold Are women now, and menials old." XXIX. The mistress of the mansion came, Had well become a princely court, To whom, though more than kindred knew, Meet welcome to her guest she made, Though all unask'd his birth and name. Which his brave sires, from age to age, XXX. Fain would the Knight in turn require |