Grief at Wynnwood Hall.
Reading edition
The news soon spread from coast to country round That lost was every soul. At Wynnwood Hall, Sir Harold's home, their grief knew no control. That he should be the first Wynn not to fall In battle's heated fray; but should be basely drowned!
His helmet, cloak, and sword he'd cast aside, To save the girl who clung Around his neck. These relics dear were found and silent hung Beneath the rest. None sought grief's tears to check To see the blood-stained cross for which he'd fought and died.
Alack! The ill-starred news had reach the shrine Where sat mid birds and flowers, His new-born bride. To her the lead-winged moments seemed as hours; And yet her bounding hope her baleful fears belied. What tidings would morn bring. O could she but divine!