II.
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aint George’s banner, broad and gay,Now faded, as the fading rayLess bright, and less, was flung;The evening gale had scarce the powerTo wave it on the donjon tower,So heavily it hung.The scouts had parted on their search,The castle gates were barred;Above the gloomy portal arch,Timing his footsteps to a march,The warder kept his guard;Low humming, as he paced along,Some ancient Border gathering song.
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