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THE SPANIEL'S REVENGE.
“Love me love my dog.”
A LEGEND.
The lady's footsteps fall like snow upon the castle floor,
The lady's fingers, small and white, can scarce unbar the door,
Her light feet falter on the stair, her pulses faintly beat.
Dear heaven above!—or earthly love—send aid to Marguerite!
The lady's fingers, small and white, can scarce unbar the door,
Her light feet falter on the stair, her pulses faintly beat.
Dear heaven above!—or earthly love—send aid to Marguerite!
Lone leaning on the castle wall she looks far out to sea,
Oh for those sailing pinions whereon the sea-gulls flee!
Tear after tear, a torrid shower, in sparkling silence fell,
Seen by one wistful gazer,—her little dog Fidel.
Oh for those sailing pinions whereon the sea-gulls flee!
Tear after tear, a torrid shower, in sparkling silence fell,
Seen by one wistful gazer,—her little dog Fidel.
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A spaniel soft as thistle down, and clouded like the sky,
With hanging ears like silken curls, and fond looks in his eye;
One other thing the lady holds alone as dear as he,
The dread of all the house beside,—her bloodhound Favori.
With hanging ears like silken curls, and fond looks in his eye;
One other thing the lady holds alone as dear as he,
The dread of all the house beside,—her bloodhound Favori.
Fierce as the spotted panther that crouches in the wild,
Yet to the Countess Marguerite as gentle as a child,
The lackeys who purvey his food dare never venture near,
But round his neck her white arms twine without a thought of fear.
Yet to the Countess Marguerite as gentle as a child,
The lackeys who purvey his food dare never venture near,
But round his neck her white arms twine without a thought of fear.
Ah! who will stroke his muzzle now? and feed him from her hand?
In vain at morning and at night with eager eyes he'll stand,
The lady to another bower hath sent her maiden train,
The turrets grey of Chatenaye she'll never see again.
In vain at morning and at night with eager eyes he'll stand,
The lady to another bower hath sent her maiden train,
The turrets grey of Chatenaye she'll never see again.
Before her baby lips could speak her troth-plight had been passed,
For she of all her ancient line was loveliest and last.
Her father on his bed of death has forced from her a vow,
To wed with speed the cruel Count who waits at Crèçy now.
For she of all her ancient line was loveliest and last.
Her father on his bed of death has forced from her a vow,
To wed with speed the cruel Count who waits at Crèçy now.
So she must leave the lordly towers that nursed her gentle life,
To wed a fierce and evil man to be Count Crèçy's wife;
For seven days and nights to dwell beside her lady aunt.
And then to leave for Crèçy's keep each loved and lovely haunt.
To wed a fierce and evil man to be Count Crèçy's wife;
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And then to leave for Crèçy's keep each loved and lovely haunt.
Six sunny days have fled away like blossoms fair and sweet,
Ah! is it so, that heaven nor earth can aid poor Marguerite?
When high above, the summer sun the seventh day did ride
She strayed along the greenwood path, Count Crèçy at her side.
Ah! is it so, that heaven nor earth can aid poor Marguerite?
When high above, the summer sun the seventh day did ride
She strayed along the greenwood path, Count Crèçy at her side.
Out of the thicket as they passed rushed forth a wounded doe,
And after her a little fawn with tottering steps and slow.
The parted hazels close behind, but ere their branches met
A huntsman leapt before them, in liveried gold and jet.
And after her a little fawn with tottering steps and slow.
The parted hazels close behind, but ere their branches met
A huntsman leapt before them, in liveried gold and jet.
The lady knew his colors, and shrieked, “Ah! spare the doe!”
Count Crèçy stretched his gauntlet forth and felled him at a blow.
“Ah cruel!” cried fair Marguerite, “he might have killed the deer
Better than you had slain a man, and slain he is I fear.”
Count Crèçy stretched his gauntlet forth and felled him at a blow.
“Ah cruel!” cried fair Marguerite, “he might have killed the deer
Better than you had slain a man, and slain he is I fear.”
“Hold there!” the rough Count muttered. “I did the serf no harm:
Shall I not kill too, if I will?” and close he grasped her arm,
So close that on the pallid wrist five crimson printings stood,
And more in anger than in pain her cry rang through the wood.
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So close that on the pallid wrist five crimson printings stood,
And more in anger than in pain her cry rang through the wood.
Fidel, the little Spaniel, heard; and for his lady's sake
Sprang upward in a fierce attempt Count Crèçy's throat to take,
But backward to the ground he fell and Crèçy laughed aloud:
“Methinks for such a maiden's pet thine aim is wondrous proud.”
Sprang upward in a fierce attempt Count Crèçy's throat to take,
But backward to the ground he fell and Crèçy laughed aloud:
“Methinks for such a maiden's pet thine aim is wondrous proud.”
Then angrily spake Marguerite—“Ah! might it only be
In thy place, little weak Fidel, my bloodhound Favori,
I promise you, Sir Count, your laugh had been another note,
If those white fangs had glittered keen against your bearded throat!”
In thy place, little weak Fidel, my bloodhound Favori,
I promise you, Sir Count, your laugh had been another note,
If those white fangs had glittered keen against your bearded throat!”
She whistled at her silver call, but nothing stirred beside,
“Fidel, who only loved me!” said to herself the bride.
No glance she gave her bridegroom, but when the chapel
Rang out next morn for matins, it sounded like a knell.
“Fidel, who only loved me!” said to herself the bride.
No glance she gave her bridegroom, but when the chapel
Rang out next morn for matins, it sounded like a knell.
The lady aunt came rustling stiff, and tapping for the maid:
“The Count waits in the chapel, and thou not yet arrayed?”
Right hastily she drew the veil to hide her dropping tears,
And lingered on the winding stair as one oppressed with years.
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Right hastily she drew the veil to hide her dropping tears,
And lingered on the winding stair as one oppressed with years.
She paused beside the oriel: was that a bloodhound's bay?
Hasten sweet lady Marguerite! the guests are on their way;
Rank after rank of knight and dame, but thou must be the first,
And into that old chapel like summer sunshine burst.
Hasten sweet lady Marguerite! the guests are on their way;
Rank after rank of knight and dame, but thou must be the first,
And into that old chapel like summer sunshine burst.
She crossed the hall beside the priest, the portal softly swung,
But ere her eyes could note that plume before the altar flung,
There, trembling in his dumb delight, her little spaniel stood,
And leaping on her bridal dress has marked his paws in blood.
But ere her eyes could note that plume before the altar flung,
There, trembling in his dumb delight, her little spaniel stood,
And leaping on her bridal dress has marked his paws in blood.
Ah me! one step the father took—there lay Count Crèçy, dead.
Thick blood welled on his broidered vest, and dyed his doublet red.
So had he died, before his bride had passed the chapel door,
And Favori who throttled him lay panting on the floor.
Thick blood welled on his broidered vest, and dyed his doublet red.
So had he died, before his bride had passed the chapel door,
And Favori who throttled him lay panting on the floor.
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