 | The Knight and The Enchantress |  |
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THE BRIDAL.
“Here is right-royalle hypocrasse, Ladye of mine,
For thy royaller lips' burning crimson, to kiss;
And as thou lov'st music far better than wine,
Listen! heard ye e'er music more perfect than this?”
For thy royaller lips' burning crimson, to kiss;
And as thou lov'st music far better than wine,
Listen! heard ye e'er music more perfect than this?”
“Pledge me—pledge me bright Ladye!—while harpstrings thrill round:
Why thus motionless sit ye?—why sit ye thus mute?
Do'st thou love not the harp and the dulcimer's sound?
Ah! in sooth, they 're not sweet as thine own silvery lute!”
Why thus motionless sit ye?—why sit ye thus mute?
Do'st thou love not the harp and the dulcimer's sound?
Ah! in sooth, they 're not sweet as thine own silvery lute!”
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“Oh Bridegroom! young Bridegroom!” the Ladye replied,
While the hypocrasse-goblet she raised, as t'was meet,
To her tremulous lips with the blush of a Bride,
“Oh Bridegroom! young Bridegroom! the music is sweet!
While the hypocrasse-goblet she raised, as t'was meet,
To her tremulous lips with the blush of a Bride,
“Oh Bridegroom! young Bridegroom! the music is sweet!
“'Tis the King's choicest minstrels—the practised and skilled—
Strike their loud-ringing harps to thy honour and praise;
And with flatteries, sweet as rare spice-woods distilled,
Enrich they their festal and heart-gladdening lays!
Strike their loud-ringing harps to thy honour and praise;
And with flatteries, sweet as rare spice-woods distilled,
Enrich they their festal and heart-gladdening lays!
“But thou droop'st like a hyacinth weighed down with dew;—
Bid the minstrels be still, nor those glad strains repeat;
Thou art wearied, my Bird! and thy cheeks wan of hue—”
“Nay, Ronald—brave Ronald!—the music is sweet!”
Bid the minstrels be still, nor those glad strains repeat;
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“Nay, Ronald—brave Ronald!—the music is sweet!”
“Cloth of silver, and draperies of rich cloth of gold
Have I brought thee, and mantles, and fair vests of pall;
But though gems be encrusted on every thick fold,
Thou shedd'st tears, as though pearls thou thought'st loveliest ofall!
Have I brought thee, and mantles, and fair vests of pall;
But though gems be encrusted on every thick fold,
Thou shedd'st tears, as though pearls thou thought'st loveliest ofall!
“And pearls thou shalt have, to bedeck that fair brow,
If the Argosies-royalle, or the Ocean hath pearls,
To 'twine carkanets meet for thy proud throat of snow,—
To wreathe coronals worthy thy dark glossy curls!”
If the Argosies-royalle, or the Ocean hath pearls,
To 'twine carkanets meet for thy proud throat of snow,—
To wreathe coronals worthy thy dark glossy curls!”
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“Nay, Ronald—brave Ronald!” the Ladye replied,
As she bowed her bright head on her beautiful hand,
As becometh a dainty and delicate Bride,
The Flower of the Fairest, and First of the Land!
As she bowed her bright head on her beautiful hand,
As becometh a dainty and delicate Bride,
The Flower of the Fairest, and First of the Land!
“Nay, Ronald—brave Ronald!” she tremblingly said;
Like a bird's distant warble arose her sweet voice;
“Bright, bright are thy diamonds—thy rubies blood red;
Why dream'st thou that pearls are my pleasure and choice?”
Like a bird's distant warble arose her sweet voice;
“Bright, bright are thy diamonds—thy rubies blood red;
Why dream'st thou that pearls are my pleasure and choice?”
“Nay! I spake but in mockery—I spake but in jest,—
Mine Enchantress,—my Idol,—my Bride,—and my Queen!
And but fabled that pearls were thy choice and thy quest,
Since the tears that thou shedd'st were like pearls in their sheen!
Mine Enchantress,—my Idol,—my Bride,—and my Queen!
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Since the tears that thou shedd'st were like pearls in their sheen!
“Now let smiles, rosy smiles o'er thy countenance play,
And thus banish each trace of that trespassing tear;
Though in maiden shame-facedness veiled, sooth to say,
E'en thy loveliness, lovelier to me doth appear!
And thus banish each trace of that trespassing tear;
Though in maiden shame-facedness veiled, sooth to say,
E'en thy loveliness, lovelier to me doth appear!
“But away!—let us mix with the revel's light train;
Let the festal lamps shine with a yet ruddier blaze;—
Let the harps pour a wilder and welcomer strain;
And away!—let us thread the gay Saraband's maze!
Let the festal lamps shine with a yet ruddier blaze;—
Let the harps pour a wilder and welcomer strain;
And away!—let us thread the gay Saraband's maze!
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“'Tis to-morrow the shrill battle-trumpet shall sound,
And thy Ronald shall challenge the world for thy name:
Sovereign Beauty! by thee shall the Victor be crowned;
And thy touch shall be Glory—thy smile shall be Fame!
And thy Ronald shall challenge the world for thy name:
Sovereign Beauty! by thee shall the Victor be crowned;
And thy touch shall be Glory—thy smile shall be Fame!
“Oh! I sigh for the combat, I burn for the charge;
Would my foot were in stirrup!—my lance were in rest!
Bareheaded,—withouten or breast-plate or targe,
I should joy to approve thee, first, loveliest, and best!
Would my foot were in stirrup!—my lance were in rest!
Bareheaded,—withouten or breast-plate or targe,
I should joy to approve thee, first, loveliest, and best!
“Would the Kings of the Earth could assembled be there,
With the captains and leaders renowned of the age,
Joined with all that this earth boasts most radiant and fair,
Then how proudly for thee, the gay warfare I'd wage!
With the captains and leaders renowned of the age,
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Then how proudly for thee, the gay warfare I'd wage!
“Oh, I burn for the combat! I sigh for the strife!—
I pine to do deeds of high knightly emprize;
And how lightly, beloved one! I'd peril this life,
To maintain the dominion supreme of those eyes!”
I pine to do deeds of high knightly emprize;
And how lightly, beloved one! I'd peril this life,
To maintain the dominion supreme of those eyes!”
Then the Ladye far paler and paler became,
Till essayed she to smile, and essayed she to speak;
The bright blood, like a wavering, wind-shaken flame,
Then flashed o'er her forehead, and blazed o'er cheek.
Till essayed she to smile, and essayed she to speak;
The bright blood, like a wavering, wind-shaken flame,
Then flashed o'er her forehead, and blazed o'er cheek.
“Oh! no parlaunce of combats, my Love and my Lord!
Oh! no parlaunce of combats, nor challenges now!—
Yesternight, in a dream, saw I not the keen sword,
In some desperate encounter, waved high round thy brow!
Oh! no parlaunce of combats, nor challenges now!—
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In some desperate encounter, waved high round thy brow!
“And the featureless Phantom that wielded the blade,
Oh how mighty his strength—or how deadly his art!
And nor mercy nor ruth his remorseless hand stayed,
Till he plunged the dire weapon, deep—deep in thy heart!
Oh how mighty his strength—or how deadly his art!
And nor mercy nor ruth his remorseless hand stayed,
Till he plunged the dire weapon, deep—deep in thy heart!
“And but now—while the lay and the legend went round—
While the lamps poured their richest and ruddiest gleam;—
When most witching and soft arose music's sweet sound,—
Then recurred to remembrance that foul, fatal dream!
While the lamps poured their richest and ruddiest gleam;—
When most witching and soft arose music's sweet sound,—
Then recurred to remembrance that foul, fatal dream!
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“And the minstrels' song came like a dirge on mine ear,
And the lights glared like funeral lamps to my sight;
And methought I beheld thee, outstretched on thy bier,
While solemn and sad rose the stern burial rite!
And the lights glared like funeral lamps to my sight;
And methought I beheld thee, outstretched on thy bier,
While solemn and sad rose the stern burial rite!
“Yesternight—yesternight—that dark vision of dread;
Oh how fast from thy bosom gushed forth the warm blood!
Oh! how droopingly hung that pale, slumber-bowed head!
And how heavy that slumber—how staunchless that flood!
Oh how fast from thy bosom gushed forth the warm blood!
Oh! how droopingly hung that pale, slumber-bowed head!
And how heavy that slumber—how staunchless that flood!
“Ha! the Spectre—the Spectre! he tore me away,
With his red, reeking hands, from that scene of despair;
For a spectre it seemed, though in knightly array,—
Clad all proudly, and fairly, and gallantly there!
With his red, reeking hands, from that scene of despair;
For a spectre it seemed, though in knightly array,—
Clad all proudly, and fairly, and gallantly there!
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“Oh! speak not of combats, my Love and my Lord,
But be faulchion, and gauntlet, and helm laid aside;
For these dreaming eyes saw thee by death-dealing sword,
Stricken down in thy strength, in thy youth, and thy pride!
But be faulchion, and gauntlet, and helm laid aside;
For these dreaming eyes saw thee by death-dealing sword,
Stricken down in thy strength, in thy youth, and thy pride!
“Now, beseech thee take heed, for thine Adeline's sake,
But behold my wan cheek, and my tear-troubled eye;—
Be this tourney delayed, or my fond heart will break;
For I know thou wilt fall—thou wilt bleed—thou wilt die!”
But behold my wan cheek, and my tear-troubled eye;—
Be this tourney delayed, or my fond heart will break;
For I know thou wilt fall—thou wilt bleed—thou wilt die!”
Then the Bridegroom laughed loud—and the Bridegroom laughed long:
“Now a slow, funeral-chaunt bid these gay minstrels sing;
O'er my corse, mind ye pour tears of wine—bright and strong;
For my bier, mark—a bed of fresh roses ye bring!
“Now a slow, funeral-chaunt bid these gay minstrels sing;
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For my bier, mark—a bed of fresh roses ye bring!
“Let my beautiful Bride have her will and her way;
Ah! a thousand fond deaths, love, for thee have I died!
—And fierce martyrdom suffered for many a long day;
Yet once more, let me die for thy sake, then, sweet Bride!
Ah! a thousand fond deaths, love, for thee have I died!
—And fierce martyrdom suffered for many a long day;
Yet once more, let me die for thy sake, then, sweet Bride!
“Be the tourney delayed!—by my Halidom—no!
The more lowering the danger, the loftier the deed!
E'en now could I wish the loud trumpet should blow;
—Let me grasp the long lance, and rein in the fierce steed!”
The more lowering the danger, the loftier the deed!
E'en now could I wish the loud trumpet should blow;
—Let me grasp the long lance, and rein in the fierce steed!”
“Nay! now say ye not so—Ronald—say ye not so!
Nor despise ye the counsels of love's zealous care;
Nor reject ye what heaven may in visions foreshew,
Nay, Ronald, brave Ronald,—I rede thee, beware!”
Nor despise ye the counsels of love's zealous care;
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Nay, Ronald, brave Ronald,—I rede thee, beware!”
Hush ye! hearken ye! lo, 'tis the Warder's loud horn;
How startling, how thrilling, its sharp sudden peal,
While from echo to echo, 'tis boundingly borne—
Listening Silence hath set, on each lip her deep seal.
How startling, how thrilling, its sharp sudden peal,
While from echo to echo, 'tis boundingly borne—
Listening Silence hath set, on each lip her deep seal.
Now who can the guest be—so careless and late?
For the banquet is done, 'tis the Saraband's hour;
O, who can it be that now speeds to the gate,
Whom the Warder hath spied from his post on the tower?
For the banquet is done, 'tis the Saraband's hour;
O, who can it be that now speeds to the gate,
Whom the Warder hath spied from his post on the tower?
Enters swift a retainer, to announce this new guest—
“'Tis a knight, good my lord, from far Palestine's land,
With the red-cross embroidered on shoulder and breast,
That now craves to be joined, to this gay festive band.”
“'Tis a knight, good my lord, from far Palestine's land,
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That now craves to be joined, to this gay festive band.”
“Bid him welcome,” that gallant young Bridegroom replied;
Say his presence shall honour our hearth and our board—
Bear him fair, courteous greetings from Bridegroom and Bride,
Bid him welcome from Ladye and welcome from Lord!”
Say his presence shall honour our hearth and our board—
Bear him fair, courteous greetings from Bridegroom and Bride,
Bid him welcome from Ladye and welcome from Lord!”
But that Ladye no word she vouchsafed, and no look,
As she drew her deep veil yet more closely around—
And while slightly her frame with some boding thrill shook,
She sate pale as a sacrifice—flower-wreathed and bound!
As she drew her deep veil yet more closely around—
And while slightly her frame with some boding thrill shook,
She sate pale as a sacrifice—flower-wreathed and bound!
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Then whispered her lover low, low in her ear,
“Is't in mercy those perilous charms thou'dst conceal?
Ah, in mercy to me, sweet!—now cheer thee, take cheer!
For each cloud on thy brow—in my heart's core I feel!”
“Is't in mercy those perilous charms thou'dst conceal?
Ah, in mercy to me, sweet!—now cheer thee, take cheer!
For each cloud on thy brow—in my heart's core I feel!”
“Yesternight, yesternight—my dark vision,” she said,
The while heaved her sad bosom with tremulous sighs;
And drooped low o'er that bosom her exquisite head,
Nor upraised she, when entered the Stranger, her eyes!
The while heaved her sad bosom with tremulous sighs;
And drooped low o'er that bosom her exquisite head,
Nor upraised she, when entered the Stranger, her eyes!
He entered—all eyes but her own were transfixed
On the dark stately form that drew silently nigh;
Doubt, observance, surprise, with slight awe faintly mixed—
Straight arrested each tongue, and enchained every eye!
On the dark stately form that drew silently nigh;
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Straight arrested each tongue, and enchained every eye!
High and princely his stature—full martial his frame;
But his features were masked from the gaze of the crowd,
By the vizor struck down, which repelled the fond aim
Of close scrutiny's shaft,—nor discovery allowed!
But his features were masked from the gaze of the crowd,
By the vizor struck down, which repelled the fond aim
Of close scrutiny's shaft,—nor discovery allowed!
With the mien of a Conqueror, the form of a Mars,
With the garb of a Knight, and the step of a King,
Moves he on,—that plumed champion of Christendom's wars,
From the Holy Countrie—say, what news doth he bring?
With the garb of a Knight, and the step of a King,
Moves he on,—that plumed champion of Christendom's wars,
From the Holy Countrie—say, what news doth he bring?
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Oh! with none holds he parley, he is questioned of none,
As he strides through that ample and loudechoing hall—
As he moves on conspicuously lofty and lone;
The occupation, the attraction, the wonder of all.
As he strides through that ample and loudechoing hall—
As he moves on conspicuously lofty and lone;
The occupation, the attraction, the wonder of all.
He is armed cap-a-pie, limb and trunk, front and flank,
As for hostile encounter of vengeance and wrath;
As he passed—the carousers and wassailers shrank,
And so left him free passage, and broad open path!
As for hostile encounter of vengeance and wrath;
As he passed—the carousers and wassailers shrank,
And so left him free passage, and broad open path!
He is armed cap-a-pie—head and heel, foot and hand,
From his long knightly spurs, to his high nodding crest;
Sooth to say, the Crusader from Palestine's land,
Seems full strangely equipped for a gay wedding guest!
From his long knightly spurs, to his high nodding crest;
Sooth to say, the Crusader from Palestine's land,
Seems full strangely equipped for a gay wedding guest!
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Sheathed in harness of steel, as on battle's hot day,
Cased in armour of proof—strong and close and complete,
Seems he fully prepared in that martial array,
Not for galliard and feast, but for stern warlike feat!
Cased in armour of proof—strong and close and complete,
Seems he fully prepared in that martial array,
Not for galliard and feast, but for stern warlike feat!
But enough that a noble Crusader he be,
Hospitality's warmest of welcomes to claim—
Though unknown be his errand—concealed his degree,
Unrevealed his pretensions—unuttered his name.
Hospitality's warmest of welcomes to claim—
Though unknown be his errand—concealed his degree,
Unrevealed his pretensions—unuttered his name.
'Tis the red-cross is marked on his mantle's dark fold,
On his sword's bossy handle, his small shining shield—
Well I ween, in the ranks of the brave and the bold,
It hath glittered the foremost in many a fair field.
On his sword's bossy handle, his small shining shield—
Well I ween, in the ranks of the brave and the bold,
It hath glittered the foremost in many a fair field.
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Erst the thick-broidered scarf on his arm hath been bright,
But all faded its hues are, and soiled is its sheen:
And erst splendid and rich were the arms of the knight,
But they've furnished his need through long service and keen!
But all faded its hues are, and soiled is its sheen:
And erst splendid and rich were the arms of the knight,
But they've furnished his need through long service and keen!
Erst the hair-knot that's fixed on his helm hath been fair—
But its brightness is dimmed—though unchanged be its hue;
Yes! the brightness is dimmed on that braid of brown hair,
And discoloured and pale, is its silk twine of blue.
But its brightness is dimmed—though unchanged be its hue;
Yes! the brightness is dimmed on that braid of brown hair,
And discoloured and pale, is its silk twine of blue.
At once he strode on, to the dais of state,
Through the broad columned space where the wassailers were—
Where the seneschals stood, and the troubadours sate,
And the yeomen and merrymen gaily did fare.
Through the broad columned space where the wassailers were—
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And the yeomen and merrymen gaily did fare.
He turned not to the left—he turned not to the right,
And he heeded no courtesie—hearkened no word;
But strode up, where the youthful hosts sate full in sight;
And stood facing the Ladye—and facing the Lord.
And he heeded no courtesie—hearkened no word;
But strode up, where the youthful hosts sate full in sight;
And stood facing the Ladye—and facing the Lord.
For a moment he stood in his might and his pride—
Like a black tower of iron, he stood on the floor,
With his gauntleted hand on the sword at his side—
'Twas a sword that had oft drank the Saracen's gore!
Like a black tower of iron, he stood on the floor,
With his gauntleted hand on the sword at his side—
'Twas a sword that had oft drank the Saracen's gore!
For a moment he stood in his power and his pride,
While a deep boding silence reigned through that vast hall;
The last murmur of doubt and conjecture had died,
And a hush, like the hush of the grave dwelt on all.
While a deep boding silence reigned through that vast hall;
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And a hush, like the hush of the grave dwelt on all.
For a moment he stood there, unbending and high—
Like the young oak that lords it o'er copse and o'er plain;
Who were distant, pressed forward—shrank back, who were nigh—
And their deepening disquietude none might restrain!
Like the young oak that lords it o'er copse and o'er plain;
Who were distant, pressed forward—shrank back, who were nigh—
And their deepening disquietude none might restrain!
The while, waited his host in suspense and surprise,
With a mien as unbending, and proud as his own:
And the Bride, the pale Bride, with dark, fixed glassy eyes,
Sate there mute, mazed, and motionless, stiffened to stone.
With a mien as unbending, and proud as his own:
And the Bride, the pale Bride, with dark, fixed glassy eyes,
Sate there mute, mazed, and motionless, stiffened to stone.
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From the folds of his mantle, that stern Stranger took
A gemmed ring and a scroll,—now the Bride's heart-veins beat,
For one moment his hand with fierce menace he shook,
And then dashed down the ring and the scroll at her feet!
A gemmed ring and a scroll,—now the Bride's heart-veins beat,
For one moment his hand with fierce menace he shook,
And then dashed down the ring and the scroll at her feet!
The next instant—in silence he rapidly drew
From his hand, the huge steel-covered gauntlet he wore—
And with air of disdain and defiance he threw
That huge gauntlet the gallant young Bridegroom before!
From his hand, the huge steel-covered gauntlet he wore—
And with air of disdain and defiance he threw
That huge gauntlet the gallant young Bridegroom before!
Then upsprang that young Bridegroom, half maddened with ire;
“Ho! my arms—now despatch!—what! my squires—haste ye!—haste!”
To his cheek sprang the blood, to his eye leapt the fire,
In flushings and flashes, fierce, fitful, and fast.
“Ho! my arms—now despatch!—what! my squires—haste ye!—haste!”
To his cheek sprang the blood, to his eye leapt the fire,
In flushings and flashes, fierce, fitful, and fast.
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Then young Eustace the Red-Hand, and Randolph the bold,
Sprang like lightning, their lord's hasty summons to obey—
Ere a few flying seconds were breathlessly told,
Stood both Knights face to face in war's dreadful array!
Sprang like lightning, their lord's hasty summons to obey—
Ere a few flying seconds were breathlessly told,
Stood both Knights face to face in war's dreadful array!
Then they paused not for fashion—they stayed not for form—
They demanded no umpire, proclaimed no pretence—
Fiercely glowed in both bosoms wrath's terrible storm;
They prepared for assault, and prepared for defence!
They demanded no umpire, proclaimed no pretence—
Fiercely glowed in both bosoms wrath's terrible storm;
They prepared for assault, and prepared for defence!
Then each grasped his good sword, and each snatched his true shield;
And what else should they wait for,—what more could they need?
Standard-bearers, or mareschall-chiefs of the field?
No! nor fair-measured lists, nor caparisoned steed!
And what else should they wait for,—what more could they need?
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No! nor fair-measured lists, nor caparisoned steed!
And they paused not for poursuivants, heralds nor tromp,
Nor for room, nor for signal, for pledge, nor for prize;
No august ceremonial, no chivalrous pomp
Decked that fray in some gay courtly spcctacle's guise!
Nor for room, nor for signal, for pledge, nor for prize;
No august ceremonial, no chivalrous pomp
Decked that fray in some gay courtly spcctacle's guise!
Where so lately was heard but the laugh and the song,
How the flash of steel shone, how the clash of steel rang!—
Where so lately lisped Flattery's smooth honeytipped tongue,
How harsh and how stern jarred the armour's loud clang!
How the flash of steel shone, how the clash of steel rang!—
Where so lately lisped Flattery's smooth honeytipped tongue,
How harsh and how stern jarred the armour's loud clang!
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Ha! the knot from the Stranger's plumed helmet's struck down,
Dost thou know that dark tress, then—thou good gallant groom?
Dost thou know, that thick hair-knot of deep auburn brown,
That, at that thou strik'st fiercely, and sparest the high plume?
Dost thou know that dark tress, then—thou good gallant groom?
Dost thou know, that thick hair-knot of deep auburn brown,
That, at that thou strik'st fiercely, and sparest the high plume?
So fiercely—it bounds to the feet of the Bride,
And she knows 'tis her own—with its stained twine of blue—
In the blood of her Bridegroom, 'tis dabbled and dyed,
For the next moment saw his brave bosom pierced through.
And she knows 'tis her own—with its stained twine of blue—
In the blood of her Bridegroom, 'tis dabbled and dyed,
For the next moment saw his brave bosom pierced through.
As if heedless with fury, or wild with despair,
Until then had fought madly and rashly his foe;
But aroused by that insult—with skill, true and rare,
He avenged but too well, his antagonist's blow!
Until then had fought madly and rashly his foe;
But aroused by that insult—with skill, true and rare,
He avenged but too well, his antagonist's blow!
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Yea! thy bosom, young Bridegroom, hath sheathed the good sword,
That Soldanrie's hosts rued in far Palestine,
And now broke from the Victor the first hollow word,
“The envied death-wound is his—though the Victory be mine!
That Soldanrie's hosts rued in far Palestine,
And now broke from the Victor the first hollow word,
“The envied death-wound is his—though the Victory be mine!
“Thou false one! thou traitress! abhorred and accursed;
And yet ah! not abhorred—would to heaven that thou wert!
But the grief 'mongst my griefs, far the deadliest and worst,
Is the thought that thou still canst be dear to this heart.
And yet ah! not abhorred—would to heaven that thou wert!
But the grief 'mongst my griefs, far the deadliest and worst,
Is the thought that thou still canst be dear to this heart.
“Yea! still dear to this heart—though I know thee at last,
And have proved thee as, oh! 'twas distraction to prove!
And while nought can e'er cancel or cover the past,
Unforgetting—and all unforgiving—I love!
And have proved thee as, oh! 'twas distraction to prove!
And while nought can e'er cancel or cover the past,
Unforgetting—and all unforgiving—I love!
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“And thou—thou!—by those shudderings, convulsive and quick,—
Th' agitation thy lips' quivering tremours reveal;
By that brow's ashy hue—by those gasps short and thick,
I see thou—heart of ice—heart of iron—e'en canst feel!
Th' agitation thy lips' quivering tremours reveal;
By that brow's ashy hue—by those gasps short and thick,
I see thou—heart of ice—heart of iron—e'en canst feel!
“Oh! for pomp, and for pride, and for power hast thou wed;
Retribution shall seize thee!—remorse shall enslave!
Dust, ashes, and death, be thy portion instead;
Be thy Bridegroom the worm, and thy palace the grave!
Retribution shall seize thee!—remorse shall enslave!
Dust, ashes, and death, be thy portion instead;
Be thy Bridegroom the worm, and thy palace the grave!
“Well thou knew'st where, in dungeons and chains, I lay pent,
In my bitterest ordeal—in mine uttermost need:
Well thou knew'st; for the right trusty envoy I sent,
Sought and found thee, and staunchly my cause strove to plead.
In my bitterest ordeal—in mine uttermost need:
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Sought and found thee, and staunchly my cause strove to plead.
“Well thou knew'st—well thou knew'st—for that envoy returned,
To pronounce how his mission proved fruitless and vain;
And his brave, loyal bosom indignantly burned,
As he told how thou 'dst mocked at the tale of my pain.
To pronounce how his mission proved fruitless and vain;
And his brave, loyal bosom indignantly burned,
As he told how thou 'dst mocked at the tale of my pain.
“How at last thou hadst spurned him, and driven him away,
With revilings and threatenings—with harshness and scorn;—
Still affecting to doubt what he strove to pourtray—
My affliction, my misery;—chained—wounded—forlorn!
With revilings and threatenings—with harshness and scorn;—
Still affecting to doubt what he strove to pourtray—
My affliction, my misery;—chained—wounded—forlorn!
92
“'Twas that true, trusty follower that saved me at last—
That unbolted my dungeon, and severed my chain;—
That unwound the close toils which about me were cast,
And that gave me to life and to freedom again!
That unbolted my dungeon, and severed my chain;—
That unwound the close toils which about me were cast,
And that gave me to life and to freedom again!
“'Twas with dext'rous contrivance, and diligent zeal,
My deliverance, my safety at length he achieved;
The whilst thou—not one pang of regret didst thou feel,
For the sufferings of one thou'dst so foully aggrieved!
My deliverance, my safety at length he achieved;
The whilst thou—not one pang of regret didst thou feel,
For the sufferings of one thou'dst so foully aggrieved!
“Not one pang of regret, did I say?—No! forsooth,
'T was with transports—with triumph, thou heard'st of my fate;
Since it left thee thus free—lost to feeling and ruth,
To elect thee a nobler and far wealthier mate!
'T was with transports—with triumph, thou heard'st of my fate;
Since it left thee thus free—lost to feeling and ruth,
To elect thee a nobler and far wealthier mate!
93
“'Tis sore pity thy Bridegroom, the flower of his race,
Should thus fall in the prime of his promising youth,
For a thing so contemptibly worthless and base,
As a Woman devoid of faith, honour, and truth!
Should thus fall in the prime of his promising youth,
For a thing so contemptibly worthless and base,
As a Woman devoid of faith, honour, and truth!
“And I grieve that this arm should have dealt the dire blow;
Not his blood—not his blood—but mine own fate I sought:
Now filled up to o'erflowing's my deep cup of woe;—
Woman! Woman!—how wide is the ruin thou'st wrought!
Not his blood—not his blood—but mine own fate I sought:
Now filled up to o'erflowing's my deep cup of woe;—
Woman! Woman!—how wide is the ruin thou'st wrought!
“And not yet is't completed. I feel—ah! I feel
Fury, anguish, remorse, my racked vitals consume;—
Hath this hand not another stern death-blow to deal?
Must another marked victim not sink to the tomb?
Fury, anguish, remorse, my racked vitals consume;—
Hath this hand not another stern death-blow to deal?
Must another marked victim not sink to the tomb?
94
“Would the sands of Samaar had grown red with my blood—
That these bones were strewn bleaching in Palestine's air—
That these limbs had for Lebanon's eagles been food—
That the wild dog had made this crushed heart his own share!”
That these bones were strewn bleaching in Palestine's air—
That these limbs had for Lebanon's eagles been food—
That the wild dog had made this crushed heart his own share!”
Yet more hollow and hoarse grows his voice as he speaks;
Indistinctly and faintly those murmurs are heard;
Still with half-stifled gasps, and deep pauses and breaks,
'Twixt each laboured, and long-drawn, and low-muttered word.
Indistinctly and faintly those murmurs are heard;
Still with half-stifled gasps, and deep pauses and breaks,
'Twixt each laboured, and long-drawn, and low-muttered word.
Ha! he loosens his corslet—and now his rash hand
Grasps a short, trusty poniard, all glittering and keen;—
In his bosom 'tis plunged,—while that scared wedding band,
Shuddering—staggering—shrink back, with wild panic-struck mien!
Grasps a short, trusty poniard, all glittering and keen;—
95
Shuddering—staggering—shrink back, with wild panic-struck mien!
Was no hand to assist him—no arm to sustain,
While sore struggling, he writhed in his pangs on the floor!—
Hark! hark!—heard ye that shriek?—hark again! and again!
How it freezes with horror the heart's inmost core!
While sore struggling, he writhed in his pangs on the floor!—
Hark! hark!—heard ye that shriek?—hark again! and again!
How it freezes with horror the heart's inmost core!
'T was that poor frantic Bride shrieked—and shrieking she sprung,
Tossing wide her white arms, to the dying man's side;
Raving madness its cloud o'er her senses hath flung—
Oh for Death and Despair, thou too meetlymatched Bride!
Tossing wide her white arms, to the dying man's side;
Raving madness its cloud o'er her senses hath flung—
Oh for Death and Despair, thou too meetlymatched Bride!
96
She hath forced up the vizor, and bursts on her view,
Now those once well-known features—the cherished of old;—
Yet no eye but her own could have known them—that knew
All too wildly and well,—and could tearless behold!
Now those once well-known features—the cherished of old;—
Yet no eye but her own could have known them—that knew
All too wildly and well,—and could tearless behold!
Now fast—fast cometh on Death's tremendous eclipse;
His most horrible shape, there the tyrant hath ta'en!
Oh! those death-swimming eyes, and those bloodstreaming lips,
And those features distorted with passion and pain!
His most horrible shape, there the tyrant hath ta'en!
Oh! those death-swimming eyes, and those bloodstreaming lips,
And those features distorted with passion and pain!
She hath dashed back the helmet from off that broad brow;
How damp with the death-sweat's that deep, coal-black hair!
All unconsciously 'gan her wild tears forth to flow,
Mingling strangely with blood-gouts and cold death-dews there!
How damp with the death-sweat's that deep, coal-black hair!
97
Mingling strangely with blood-gouts and cold death-dews there!
Whence that mouth's gory stains—hideous, horrent, and dread?
'Tis some artery hath burst in that passionwrung frame;
So the poniard's dark work hath been fearfully sped,
And thus doubly decisive was Death's awful aim!
'Tis some artery hath burst in that passionwrung frame;
So the poniard's dark work hath been fearfully sped,
And thus doubly decisive was Death's awful aim!
Now she staunches that bosom's wide wound with her hair,
And those blood-streaming lips with her brideveil she dries;
And she chafes those cold palms with her soft hands and fair,
And with kisses she seals up those death-darkened eyes.
And those blood-streaming lips with her brideveil she dries;
And she chafes those cold palms with her soft hands and fair,
And with kisses she seals up those death-darkened eyes.
98
And now that keen poniard, in phrenzied despair,
She hath seized—she hath plunged in her own breaking heart;
Ah! far easier Death's fiercest of tortures to bear,
Than to endure of remorse and despair the mixed smart!
She hath seized—she hath plunged in her own breaking heart;
Ah! far easier Death's fiercest of tortures to bear,
Than to endure of remorse and despair the mixed smart!
She hath fallen like a lily snapped rudely in twain,
Ere the dark tide gushed free from her bosom's deep wound;
With quick peals of shrill laughter,—wild, loud, and insane,
She sank down by her Lover and Lord on the ground!
Ere the dark tide gushed free from her bosom's deep wound;
With quick peals of shrill laughter,—wild, loud, and insane,
She sank down by her Lover and Lord on the ground!
Oh that fair festal hall!—how profound is the gloom,
Where so lately was nothing save pleasaunce and mirth!
And still later, the clamour of conflict—the tomb
Is not stiller than now seems that drear place of dearth!
Where so lately was nothing save pleasaunce and mirth!
And still later, the clamour of conflict—the tomb
Is not stiller than now seems that drear place of dearth!
99
For the song, and the dance, and the feast all are done;
Let tears flow for bright wine—spread round ashes for flowers:
With dismayed consternation to-morrow's fair sun
Shall look down on the events of these few fatal hours.
Let tears flow for bright wine—spread round ashes for flowers:
With dismayed consternation to-morrow's fair sun
Shall look down on the events of these few fatal hours.
Now those pale wedding guests doff their gay robes of pride,
And the black weeds of mourning affect they instead,
And all silent and slow, in their sorrow they glide,
As they feared to awaken or anger the dead!
And the black weeds of mourning affect they instead,
And all silent and slow, in their sorrow they glide,
As they feared to awaken or anger the dead!
Oh black crisis of horror—stern close of dismay!
How is terror stamped deep on each agonized mien!
Bear ye,—bear ye the dead to their dim house of clay,
Since too dread for the living's this soul-harrowing scene!
How is terror stamped deep on each agonized mien!
Bear ye,—bear ye the dead to their dim house of clay,
Since too dread for the living's this soul-harrowing scene!
100
There he lies, that young Bridegroom,—the flower of his race,—
Think how many rich hopes shall be tombed in his urn;
And there lies the fair Bride, in her bloom and her grace,
And that dark, haughty Stranger, so fierce and so stern!
Think how many rich hopes shall be tombed in his urn;
And there lies the fair Bride, in her bloom and her grace,
And that dark, haughty Stranger, so fierce and so stern!
Conquering Death hath on each set his signet and seal;—
Oh! bear them away, then,—the treacherous and true;—
Bear, bear them away—they, the false and the leal,—
That the first should be myriads—the latter so few!
Oh! bear them away, then,—the treacherous and true;—
Bear, bear them away—they, the false and the leal,—
That the first should be myriads—the latter so few!
| The Knight and The Enchantress | |