The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
253
II. THE TOURNAMENT
The trumpets' blare
Rings through the air:
The glittering lists are bright with sword and shield.
A hundred gallant knights,
Known in a thousand fights,
Mix and engage upon the mimic field.
But one towers o'er them all,
A noble knight and tall,
With giant form in armour black concealed.
Rings through the air:
The glittering lists are bright with sword and shield.
A hundred gallant knights,
Known in a thousand fights,
Mix and engage upon the mimic field.
But one towers o'er them all,
A noble knight and tall,
With giant form in armour black concealed.
In vain, in vain,
The thick blows rain,—
He dreams of her whose heart has wrought him wrong.
With little heed of all,
He lets the swift strokes fall:
His war-horse steers a way with onset strong.
He gazes up above:
Where is his lady-love?
He marks her not amid the courtly throng.
The thick blows rain,—
He dreams of her whose heart has wrought him wrong.
With little heed of all,
He lets the swift strokes fall:
254
He gazes up above:
Where is his lady-love?
He marks her not amid the courtly throng.
And yet at last,
When hope was past,
Flashed on his eyes the wondrous eyes he sought.
She wore his colours too,
White, twined with tender blue—
“She loves!” His strength rushed on him at the thought.
Then knight on knight fell low:
Aye, always it is so!
By woman's hand a true knight's sword is wrought.
When hope was past,
Flashed on his eyes the wondrous eyes he sought.
She wore his colours too,
White, twined with tender blue—
“She loves!” His strength rushed on him at the thought.
Then knight on knight fell low:
Aye, always it is so!
By woman's hand a true knight's sword is wrought.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |