'
"Lady Margaret sank on her couch. 'Alas!
I shall lose them both to-day.'
Lord Archibold strode along the road,
To the field of the Brothers' Fray.
"He came to the spot where they had fought.
'My God!' he cried in fright,
'They have left him there, till his bones are bare;
Through the plates they glimmer white.'
"For his brother's armour lay there, dank,
And worn with frost and dew.
Had the long, long grass that grew so rank,
Grown the very armour through?
"'O brother, brother!' cried the Earl,
With a loud, heart-broken wail,
'I would put my soul into thy bones,
To see thee alive and hale.'
"'Ha! ha!' said a voice from out the helm--
'Twas the voice of the Dead Sea shore--
And the joints did close, and the armour rose,
And clattered and grass uptore--
"'Thou canst put no soul into his bones,
Thy brother alive to set;
For the sleep was thine, and thy soul is mine,
And, Lord Archibold, well-met!'
"'Two words to that!' said the fearless Earl;
'The sleep was none of thine;
For I dreamed of my brother all the night--
His soul brought the sleep to mine.
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