Classic Poem

I tread the site of the castle
Where dwelt my fathers of yore;
The castle, the lords and the ladies
Have vanished forevermore.

Yet the magian hour refashions
Moat, portcullis and hall,
Where phantoms grovel in donjon,
Or revel in blazoned wall;

Where, clutching a dizzy turret,
A damozel kneels to pray,
Her wet eyes chasing a rider,
In armor, glinting away.

Hubert and Hugh and Walter,
Agnes, Matilde, Isabeau,
They see me, they beckon—but sudden
They are whirled to the long-ago.

The villagers, gathering round me,
My name and race demand;
Then ask with a stare of terror,
“Comest thou back for the land?”

The query commingles the ages:—
Who am I, friends, but he
Hubertus, the old crusader
Who fell by the Tyrian sea?