Classic Poem

Long had he known the heroes were no more,
Their ghosts had told it in the hollow blast;
And as he trod the river's willow'd shore,
The youths before him in bright vision past,
They couch'd the lance, and airy javelin cast:
His trusty sword with drops of blood was stain'd,
His faithful dog howl'd o'er the dreary waste;
And to the night and silent moon complain'd:
And now Sir Claribell, once more, his speech regain'd.