Lays and Ballads from Ancient History etc. By S. M. [i.e. M. B. Smedley] |
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| 4. | LAY THE FOURTH.
BLONDEL AND CŒUR DE LION. |
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 | Lays and Ballads from Ancient History |  |
LAY THE FOURTH. BLONDEL AND CŒUR DE LION.
A minstrel cross'd the summer sea,
With haste that never tarried;
A sword upon his thigh had he,
And a golden lute he carried.
With haste that never tarried;
A sword upon his thigh had he,
And a golden lute he carried.
He wander'd east, he wander'd west,
The way was long and dreary;
But the minstrel never paused to rest,
Though faint he grew, and weary.
The way was long and dreary;
But the minstrel never paused to rest,
Though faint he grew, and weary.
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On, on he went, by night, by noon,
His eager steps renewing,
On, when the calm and peaceful moon
To sweet repose was wooing.
His eager steps renewing,
On, when the calm and peaceful moon
To sweet repose was wooing.
Where'er a castle to the skies
Its haughty front was raising,
The minstrel paused with anxious eyes,
As though his heart were gazing.
Its haughty front was raising,
The minstrel paused with anxious eyes,
As though his heart were gazing.
He paced the battled walls around,
Beneath fair banners flying;
He struck his lute of silver sound,
And seem'd to wait replying.
Beneath fair banners flying;
He struck his lute of silver sound,
And seem'd to wait replying.
He sang a wild, unfinish'd lay;
Then paused, his sad head shaking,
He turn'd and went upon his way,
As though his heart were breaking.
Then paused, his sad head shaking,
He turn'd and went upon his way,
As though his heart were breaking.
Who is the minstrel? late and long
He roams, to no man speaking;
'Tis Blondel, 'tis the prince of song,
His captive master seeking!
He roams, to no man speaking;
'Tis Blondel, 'tis the prince of song,
His captive master seeking!
Lo, to a lonely tower and grey
Once more the bard advances;
Once more his eyes the wall survey
With sad and asking glances.
Once more the bard advances;
Once more his eyes the wall survey
With sad and asking glances.
Hark to his strain! how changed and low
Upon the ear 'tis stealing;
Its notes give language to the woe
Which his sad heart is feeling.
Upon the ear 'tis stealing;
Its notes give language to the woe
Which his sad heart is feeling.
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Oft hath he waked that strain before,
By dames and lords surrounded,
When Richard, skill'd in minstrel lore,
His lute, in answer, sounded.
By dames and lords surrounded,
When Richard, skill'd in minstrel lore,
His lute, in answer, sounded.
Each courtier-critic smooth'd his brow
When that voice and lute were blended;
Ah, if those lov'd sounds answer now,
His minstrel's search is ended!
When that voice and lute were blended;
Ah, if those lov'd sounds answer now,
His minstrel's search is ended!
Blondel's Song.
Two brothers once did weeping part
On the edge of the sea so blue;
The one was fair and false of heart,
The other was gallant and true.
On the edge of the sea so blue;
The one was fair and false of heart,
The other was gallant and true.
The true knight sail'd to a distant strand
For the holy cross to fight;
The false knight seized his wealth and land,
And revell'd from morn till night.
For the holy cross to fight;
The false knight seized his wealth and land,
And revell'd from morn till night.
Like a prince he sate in his hall of state,
And his vassals came at his word,
Their homage they paid and their suits they made
As though he had been their lord.
And his vassals came at his word,
Their homage they paid and their suits they made
As though he had been their lord.
There came a stranger into the hall,
And spake, on bended knee,
“Sir baron, art thou the lord of all
The lands that around I see?”
And spake, on bended knee,
“Sir baron, art thou the lord of all
The lands that around I see?”
The minstrel paused; but hark! but hark!
Is it the wild wind sighing?
'Tis a voice of power from the old grey tower
To the minstrel's voice replying!
Is it the wild wind sighing?
'Tis a voice of power from the old grey tower
To the minstrel's voice replying!
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[Blondel's song continued.
“I am their lord,” the false knight cried,
With a glance of scorn and a smile of pride—
Pride in his own disgrace.
His head the stranger slowly raised—
It was a brother's eye that gazed
Upon the traitor's face.
With a glance of scorn and a smile of pride—
Pride in his own disgrace.
His head the stranger slowly raised—
It was a brother's eye that gazed
Upon the traitor's face.
Loud rose the vassals' joyous shout,
While the craven lord, in fear and doubt,
Down from his throne did come.
“Oh! is it thus,” his brother cried,
Opening his arms of pardon wide,
“Thou giv'st me welcome home?”
While the craven lord, in fear and doubt,
Down from his throne did come.
“Oh! is it thus,” his brother cried,
Opening his arms of pardon wide,
“Thou giv'st me welcome home?”
“Ah, what revenge can ever be
So sweet as pardon full and free?”
No more! Though strong and clear
The king's voice sounded on the blast,
His minstrel's tears broke forth so fast
That the words he could not hear!
So sweet as pardon full and free?”
No more! Though strong and clear
The king's voice sounded on the blast,
His minstrel's tears broke forth so fast
That the words he could not hear!
“He is found! he is found!” the minstrel cries,
With a faltering voice, and with streaming eyes;
“My hero! my king! I have found thee now,
Though I must not gaze on thy glorious brow.
With a faltering voice, and with streaming eyes;
“My hero! my king! I have found thee now,
Though I must not gaze on thy glorious brow.
That voice, that voice! I have heard it oft,
When the banners waved in the skies aloft;
And it rang through the air like a summons high,
Nerving the hearts of the brave to die!
When the banners waved in the skies aloft;
And it rang through the air like a summons high,
Nerving the hearts of the brave to die!
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God bless thee! God cheer thee! oh, sink thou not
Under the weight of thy woful lot!
I seek thine England, thine isle of the sea,
Thy home which hath never forgotten thee!
Under the weight of thy woful lot!
I seek thine England, thine isle of the sea,
Thy home which hath never forgotten thee!
My voice to her farthest shores shall ring,
And tell the land of her captive king;
And thy chains shall be broken, and thou shalt be
Again in the land of thy fathers, free!
And tell the land of her captive king;
And thy chains shall be broken, and thou shalt be
Again in the land of thy fathers, free!
Then let not the beauty of hope depart
Out of the depths of thy lion heart;
Think on thy God in thy lonely cell!
His blessing be on thee! my chief, farewell!”
Out of the depths of thy lion heart;
Think on thy God in thy lonely cell!
His blessing be on thee! my chief, farewell!”
Mute is the bard's exulting tone,
And the captive king is left alone;
But past were grief, and fear, and gloom
Away from his narrow prison-room.
And the captive king is left alone;
But past were grief, and fear, and gloom
Away from his narrow prison-room.
All joyous is the place, and bright
With his own heart's reflected light;
Sweet tears are in his warrior eye,
For he thinks on faith and loyalty.
With his own heart's reflected light;
Sweet tears are in his warrior eye,
For he thinks on faith and loyalty.
His queen is weeping for his lot;
His English hearts forget him not:
And hope, and strength, and patience, now
Resume their throne upon his brow.
His English hearts forget him not:
And hope, and strength, and patience, now
Resume their throne upon his brow.
| Lays and Ballads from Ancient History | |