 | Poems : medley and Palestina |  |
The Old Knight and the Damozel.
I
I think these limbs are strong again,
These scanty locks are newly brown;
In thought I mount my steed amain
And ride afar for her renown.
These scanty locks are newly brown;
In thought I mount my steed amain
And ride afar for her renown.
In dusty lists, where trumpets blare,
I quell the dourest knights that live,
And crown her queen of beauty there,
And kiss the glove she bends to give.
I quell the dourest knights that live,
And crown her queen of beauty there,
And kiss the glove she bends to give.
85
I sail afar 'neath orient stars,
Climb terraced slopes of Palestine,
Shout Agnes through the helmet bars,
And break the Paynim's turbaned line.
Climb terraced slopes of Palestine,
Shout Agnes through the helmet bars,
And break the Paynim's turbaned line.
I carry slaughter through the tents,
I stain with blood the Kedron's tide;
I mount the holy battlements,
And aye for her I strike and ride.
I stain with blood the Kedron's tide;
I mount the holy battlements,
And aye for her I strike and ride.
Thou fair and noble Damozel,
Thy name shall be my battle-cry
In joust and storm and charging mell,
Wherever knight may do or die.
Thy name shall be my battle-cry
In joust and storm and charging mell,
Wherever knight may do or die.
II
He summoned archer, squire and steed,
He pledged anew his lordly wealth;
Then raised a golden cup of mead,
And, ere he mounted, drank her health.
He pledged anew his lordly wealth;
Then raised a golden cup of mead,
And, ere he mounted, drank her health.
Alas, O loving heart and pure!
The light is fading from his eyes;
And sighing, “Agnes, reine d'Amour!”
He drinks to her, but drinking dies.
The light is fading from his eyes;
And sighing, “Agnes, reine d'Amour!”
He drinks to her, but drinking dies.
And where was she?—In castle hall
She danced to pipe and dulcimer;
She knew not anything at all
Of him who dying drank to her.
She danced to pipe and dulcimer;
She knew not anything at all
Of him who dying drank to her.
86
III
In the Golden City.
The Old Knight:
O Lord, thou knowest what befell
That latest love thou grantedst me
While I was living. Was it well
To quench it as it 'gan to be?
The Lord:
'Twas well. No rosebud damozel
Can bloom aright on blighted tree;
And time it was for thee to see
The mansions where my good knights dwell.
The Old Knight:
I thank thee, Lord, I worship Thee;
Thy grace is more than tongue can tell.
But, one last favor, Lord! will she,
My love, betide to Heaven or Hell?
Chorus:
He loved a rosebud maiden,
The knight of silver hair;
And never a saint in Aidenn
Will seem to him so fair;
And, be it in Hell or Aidenn,
He hopes to find her there.
| Poems : medley and Palestina | |