 | Poems |  |
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THE OLD BARON.
I
High on a leaf-carved ancient oaken chair,The Norman Baron sat within his hall,
Wearied with a long chase by wold and mere;
His hunting spear was reared against the wall;
Upon the hearth-stone a large wood-fire blazed,
Crackled, or smoked, or hissed, as the green boughs were raised.
II
Above an arched and iron-studded door,The grim escutcheon's rude devices stood;
On each side reared a black and gristly boar,
With hearts and daggers graved on grounds of blood,
And deep-dyed gules o'er which plumed helmets frown;
Beneath this motto ran,—“Beware! I trample down.”
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III
And high around were suits of armour placed,And shields triangular, with the wild-boar's head;
Arrows, and bows, and swords the rafters graced,
And red-deer's antlers their wide branches spread;
A rough wolf's hide was nailed upon the wall,
Its white teeth clenched as when it in the dell did fall.
IV
An angel-lamp from the carved ceiling hung;Its outstretched wings the blazing oil contained,
While its long figure in the wide hall swung,
Blackening the roof to which its arms were chained;
The iron hair fell backward like a veil,—
And through the gusty door it sent a weary wail.
V
The heavy arras fluttered in the wind,That through the grated windows sweeping came,
And in its foldings glittered hart and hind,
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Moved on the curtained waves, then sank in shade,
Just as the fitful wind along the arras played.
VI
On the oak table, filled with blood-red wine,A silver cup of quaint engraving stood,
On which a thin-limbed stag of old design,
Chased by six long-eared dogs, made for a wood;
Sounding a horn a huntsman stood in view,
Whose swollen cheeks upraised the silver as he blew.
VII
At the old Baron's feet a wolf-dog lay,Watching his features with unflinching eye;
An aged minstrel, whose long locks were gray,
On an old harp his withered hands did try;
A crimson banner's rustling folds hung low,
And threw a rosy light upon his wrinkled brow.
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