 | Lays and Ballads from Ancient History |  |
103
II. Part Second.
105
The Lay of King James I. in his Captivity.
[_]
[James the First was the second son of King Robert III., and became heir to the throne of Scotland at the age of eleven years by the death of his elder brother, the unfortunate Earl of Rothsay, who was barbarously starved to death in prison by his own uncle, the wicked Duke of Albany. James fell into the hands of the English, and was detained by them in captivity during eighteen years. He was imprisoned in Windsor castle; and from the window of his tower he was wont to see the Lady Joanna, the fair daughter of the Earl of Somerset, walking among her flowers in the garden. He fell in love with her; and when he was at length ransomed by his people, he conducted her to Scotland as his queen. He was a man of high and energetic intellect, indomitable resolution, and intense devotion to his country, which he earnestly longed to rescue from the misery and misrule by which it was distracted, while given up to the government of his unprincipled uncle and yet more worthless cousins.]
Morn to eve, and eve to morn,
Listless heart and eyes unsleeping—
Want, or woe, or pain, or scorn,
O'er this lifeless desert sweeping,
Welcome were, as pangs, for me
Breaking death's dread lethargy.
Listless heart and eyes unsleeping—
Want, or woe, or pain, or scorn,
O'er this lifeless desert sweeping,
Welcome were, as pangs, for me
Breaking death's dread lethargy.
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Like the wretch, whose weary pace
To and fro, for years alone,
Left at length an awful trace
Printed on the unyielding stone,
Time's slow footsteps, day by day,
Wear my very soul away.
To and fro, for years alone,
Left at length an awful trace
Printed on the unyielding stone,
Time's slow footsteps, day by day,
Wear my very soul away.
Creeping through this narrow grate,
Stretching o'er these walls of gloom,
Even the air is like a weight,
Even the sky is like a tomb;
Nature's noble things and free
Put on dreariness for me.
Stretching o'er these walls of gloom,
Even the air is like a weight,
Even the sky is like a tomb;
Nature's noble things and free
Put on dreariness for me.
Nay, it is not thus! I have
Empire o'er a world within;
Lo, my kingly wand I wave,
Lo, the shadowy scenes begin!
Veilèd shapes of hours unknown
Stand before my spirit's throne.
Empire o'er a world within;
Lo, my kingly wand I wave,
Lo, the shadowy scenes begin!
Veilèd shapes of hours unknown
Stand before my spirit's throne.
Life—mine own, my coming life!
Well I know what thou shalt be;
Shining bliss and stormy strife,
Labour, hope, and victory!
Ceaseless efforts upward tending,
And at last in triumph ending!
Well I know what thou shalt be;
Shining bliss and stormy strife,
Labour, hope, and victory!
Ceaseless efforts upward tending,
And at last in triumph ending!
Thou hast gifts, and thou hast tasks,—
Give the last—mine aim is won!
Only this my spirit asks,
Strength and space to labour on;
Lo, mine eyes exulting see
Scotland blest, and blest through me!
Give the last—mine aim is won!
Only this my spirit asks,
Strength and space to labour on;
Lo, mine eyes exulting see
Scotland blest, and blest through me!
107
Ah, my country! Prostrate now,
Vex'd by pity, stung by scorn,
Like a noble stag brought low,
Striving, sinking, bleeding, torn;
All thine ancient honour dies,
In the dust thy glory lies!
Vex'd by pity, stung by scorn,
Like a noble stag brought low,
Striving, sinking, bleeding, torn;
All thine ancient honour dies,
In the dust thy glory lies!
Mine to staunch those gaping wounds,
Mine to raise that shadowed face,
Mine to chain those ruthless hounds,
Baying on their bloody chase;
Mine to wreath thy brows once more
With the bays which once they wore.
Mine to raise that shadowed face,
Mine to chain those ruthless hounds,
Baying on their bloody chase;
Mine to wreath thy brows once more
With the bays which once they wore.
Oh, for power! But it shall come!
By thy woods, and steeps, and seas,
Every hearth shall be a home,
Every heart shall be at peace;
In thy huts no slaves shall be,
In thy halls no tyranny!
By thy woods, and steeps, and seas,
Every hearth shall be a home,
Every heart shall be at peace;
In thy huts no slaves shall be,
In thy halls no tyranny!
If then, night and day alike,
I a wakeful warder stand,
Swift to spare, yet prompt to strike,
Calm of heart and strong of hand;
Lone were such a lot, and hard,
Were itself its sole reward.
I a wakeful warder stand,
Swift to spare, yet prompt to strike,
Calm of heart and strong of hand;
Lone were such a lot, and hard,
Were itself its sole reward.
But a dearer hope is mine,
Not unshared my toils shall be—
Shining as a star may shine
O'er the stern and troubled sea,
Hope, and guide, and goal thou art
In the brightness of thy heart!
Not unshared my toils shall be—
Shining as a star may shine
O'er the stern and troubled sea,
Hope, and guide, and goal thou art
In the brightness of thy heart!
108
Known but dimly from afar,
Seen but through a dungeon-grate,
Still thine eye hath been my star,—
Still thy smile shall be my fate,
Throned upon that brow serene,
Strength, hope, purity, are seen.
Seen but through a dungeon-grate,
Still thine eye hath been my star,—
Still thy smile shall be my fate,
Throned upon that brow serene,
Strength, hope, purity, are seen.
Wherefore rise those blushes bright,
Half ashamed, beneath my gazing?
Wherefore sink thine eyes of light
Scarce their ivory veil upraising?
'Tis the future stirs within thee,
Thou shalt love, and I shall win thee!
Half ashamed, beneath my gazing?
Wherefore sink thine eyes of light
Scarce their ivory veil upraising?
'Tis the future stirs within thee,
Thou shalt love, and I shall win thee!
Fare thee well! God's favour rest
On thy home, thy heart, and thee!
Still thou leav'st my spirit blest,
Blest in hope and memory;
Past and Future round me seem,
While the Present is a dream.
On thy home, thy heart, and thee!
Still thou leav'st my spirit blest,
Blest in hope and memory;
Past and Future round me seem,
While the Present is a dream.
Dungeon-bar and galling chain,
Are ye past away from me?
Ay, for outward bonds are vain
While the kingly heart is free!
Father, to my spirit's night
Thou hast spoken—there is light!
Are ye past away from me?
Ay, for outward bonds are vain
While the kingly heart is free!
Father, to my spirit's night
Thou hast spoken—there is light!
109
The Death of James I.
Past was the day of festal mirth;
The monarch stood beside the hearth,
Whose flickering brands cast changeful glow
On his bright eye and stately brow;
Upon that calm and noble face
Deep thoughts had left their living trace,—
Thoughts, such as press, with giant power,
A common life into an hour;
Each line of lofty meaning there
Was graven by the hand of care,
And the flash of that triumphant eye,
That arching lip's stern majesty,
Told of full many a foe withstood,—
Without, disdain'd—within, subdued!
The monarch stood beside the hearth,
Whose flickering brands cast changeful glow
On his bright eye and stately brow;
Upon that calm and noble face
Deep thoughts had left their living trace,—
Thoughts, such as press, with giant power,
A common life into an hour;
Each line of lofty meaning there
Was graven by the hand of care,
And the flash of that triumphant eye,
That arching lip's stern majesty,
Told of full many a foe withstood,—
Without, disdain'd—within, subdued!
But gentler thoughts arise—and well
That smile's subduing light may tell
(Like gleams that break the thunder-cloud,
Speaking of heaven behind its shroud)
How 'neath that haughty aspect lies
A heart of kindliest sympathies.
Oh, still that smile must shine most bright
On her who lives but in its light,
His queen, his lady—born to share
His fleeting joy, his ceaseless care;
Watching his fame with pride, as prone
To think his greatest deeds her own,
Yet with deep love, that strives to make
Herself as nothing for his sake.
That smile's subduing light may tell
(Like gleams that break the thunder-cloud,
Speaking of heaven behind its shroud)
How 'neath that haughty aspect lies
A heart of kindliest sympathies.
Oh, still that smile must shine most bright
On her who lives but in its light,
His queen, his lady—born to share
His fleeting joy, his ceaseless care;
Watching his fame with pride, as prone
To think his greatest deeds her own,
Yet with deep love, that strives to make
Herself as nothing for his sake.
110
Now at his feet she sits,—how fair
That spacious brow and shining hair,
Those lips no painter's art could reach,
Those glistening eyes whose light is speech,
That slender form of stately mien,
That softest cheek, as crystal sheen,
Whose hue was of such tender rose
As sunset flings on fallen snows;
No marvel that the monarch's eye
Dwells on her face delightedly,
No marvel that he loves to meet
A gaze so fond, so full, so sweet!
That spacious brow and shining hair,
Those lips no painter's art could reach,
Those glistening eyes whose light is speech,
That slender form of stately mien,
That softest cheek, as crystal sheen,
Whose hue was of such tender rose
As sunset flings on fallen snows;
No marvel that the monarch's eye
Dwells on her face delightedly,
No marvel that he loves to meet
A gaze so fond, so full, so sweet!
Around, apart, a graceful band,
The maidens of her service stand,
With snooded brow, and plaided breast,
And bearing modest, but serene.
First 'mid the fairest and the best
Have Scotia's daughters ever been;
They pass the tale, the song, the jest—
A blither group was never seen.
Oh, pause a while, brief hours of bliss!
Upon a scene so sweet as this
Oh, ruthless night, forbear to close,
With thy grim train of ghastly woes!
In vain! It comes, the hour of doom;
These joys but herald deeper gloom,
They are as flowers that hide a tomb!
The maidens of her service stand,
With snooded brow, and plaided breast,
And bearing modest, but serene.
First 'mid the fairest and the best
Have Scotia's daughters ever been;
They pass the tale, the song, the jest—
A blither group was never seen.
Oh, pause a while, brief hours of bliss!
Upon a scene so sweet as this
Oh, ruthless night, forbear to close,
With thy grim train of ghastly woes!
In vain! It comes, the hour of doom;
These joys but herald deeper gloom,
They are as flowers that hide a tomb!
What sound was that? The clash of mail?
Why turns each lovely cheek so pale?
Why start they from their seats, and stand
Each clasping quick her neighbour's hand?
Again!—and nearer!—hark, a cry
As of a brave heart's agony;
A shriek that rends the quivering air,
The very cadence of despair!
Oh, save the king! No thought has power
But this in such a fearful hour;
Oh, save the king! Too well we know
They come, they come, the traitor foe!
All hope is vain, the guards are slain,
Each faithful to his care,
The gates are past, and clattering fast,
With a sound like a rushing thunder-blast,
Their tramp is on the stair!
Not to yon casement fly—beneath
Stand the grim messengers of death,
Their dull blades in the moonshine gleaming,
With the blood of loyal hearts all steaming!
There is a cell beneath the floor,
Oh, seek it ere they burst the door!
One effort more,—they lift the board,—
By eager hands impell'd, implored,
Even in that hour of agony
Disdaining from his foes to fly,
The king descends—too late, too late!
His strife is vain who strives with fate;
They come—each step resounding near
Strikes like a stab upon the ear!
Why turns each lovely cheek so pale?
Why start they from their seats, and stand
Each clasping quick her neighbour's hand?
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As of a brave heart's agony;
A shriek that rends the quivering air,
The very cadence of despair!
Oh, save the king! No thought has power
But this in such a fearful hour;
Oh, save the king! Too well we know
They come, they come, the traitor foe!
All hope is vain, the guards are slain,
Each faithful to his care,
The gates are past, and clattering fast,
With a sound like a rushing thunder-blast,
Their tramp is on the stair!
Not to yon casement fly—beneath
Stand the grim messengers of death,
Their dull blades in the moonshine gleaming,
With the blood of loyal hearts all steaming!
There is a cell beneath the floor,
Oh, seek it ere they burst the door!
One effort more,—they lift the board,—
By eager hands impell'd, implored,
Even in that hour of agony
Disdaining from his foes to fly,
The king descends—too late, too late!
His strife is vain who strives with fate;
They come—each step resounding near
Strikes like a stab upon the ear!
Shall Scotland's prince thus aidless die
And with a Douglas standing by?
Forbid it years of faith and fame,
Clothing in light that ancient name!
Barr'd is that quivering door,—but how?
'Tis by a slender arm of snow!
A girl hath darted from the band,
And, where the weighty bar should stand,
She thrusts her soft, slight arm, and cries,
With whitening lips and gleaming eyes,
“'Tis fast—a woman's arm is there;
Now, men, come on ward if ye dare!”
Without a sound or start
Breathless she stood—the first fell stroke
That fragile barrier crush'd and broke,
But not one cry of terror woke
From that undaunted heart!
Till, as they dropp'd the sheltering plank,
Loosing her desperate hold, she sank
(For then the iron hand of pain
Closed on her heart and chill'd each vein);
She sank, but ere her senses fled,
“Thank God! he's saved!” she faintly said.
Such deeds can woman's spirit do—
O Catharine Douglas, fair and true,
Let Scotland keep thy holy name
Still first upon her ranks of fame!
And with a Douglas standing by?
Forbid it years of faith and fame,
Clothing in light that ancient name!
112
'Tis by a slender arm of snow!
A girl hath darted from the band,
And, where the weighty bar should stand,
She thrusts her soft, slight arm, and cries,
With whitening lips and gleaming eyes,
“'Tis fast—a woman's arm is there;
Now, men, come on ward if ye dare!”
Without a sound or start
Breathless she stood—the first fell stroke
That fragile barrier crush'd and broke,
But not one cry of terror woke
From that undaunted heart!
Till, as they dropp'd the sheltering plank,
Loosing her desperate hold, she sank
(For then the iron hand of pain
Closed on her heart and chill'd each vein);
She sank, but ere her senses fled,
“Thank God! he's saved!” she faintly said.
Such deeds can woman's spirit do—
O Catharine Douglas, fair and true,
Let Scotland keep thy holy name
Still first upon her ranks of fame!
Kind was that swoon! Thou didst not see
What deeds of horror then befell;
Well may thy comrades envy thee,
Blind to that piteous spectacle!
Those sounds of woe thou didst not hear,
Thou didst not see that sight of fear
When banded traitors slew their king;
When, weeping, with dishevell'd hair,
In pale but beautiful despair,
A queen, a wife, a woman, there
Did kneel to men who scorn'd her prayer,
Her husband and their prince to spare!
Ah, hapless queen! As hopeful 'twere
Round the roused tiger in his lair
For mercy and for aid to cling!
All bleeding sinks she in the dust,
Pierced by some stern and savage hand—
Let shame's irreparable rust
For ever stain that ruthless brand!
Let that foul deed recorded be,
A warning to futurity,
What fiends in man's dark breast awaken
When loyal faith is once forsaken!
What deeds of horror then befell;
Well may thy comrades envy thee,
Blind to that piteous spectacle!
Those sounds of woe thou didst not hear,
Thou didst not see that sight of fear
When banded traitors slew their king;
When, weeping, with dishevell'd hair,
113
A queen, a wife, a woman, there
Did kneel to men who scorn'd her prayer,
Her husband and their prince to spare!
Ah, hapless queen! As hopeful 'twere
Round the roused tiger in his lair
For mercy and for aid to cling!
All bleeding sinks she in the dust,
Pierced by some stern and savage hand—
Let shame's irreparable rust
For ever stain that ruthless brand!
Let that foul deed recorded be,
A warning to futurity,
What fiends in man's dark breast awaken
When loyal faith is once forsaken!
Like a chased lion, wounded, worn,
But still terrifie in his fall,
With ebbing strength and eyes of scorn
The king confronts those traitors all;
Outnumber'd soon, but unsubdued,
He sinks before them in his blood—
No victors they,—the hero dies
Worn out with useless victories!
But still terrifie in his fall,
With ebbing strength and eyes of scorn
The king confronts those traitors all;
Outnumber'd soon, but unsubdued,
He sinks before them in his blood—
No victors they,—the hero dies
Worn out with useless victories!
Weep, Scotland, weep, that tameless soul,
That heart, great, generous, warm, and true;
As countless ages onward roll
Such spirits come but far and few.
Weep, Scotland, weep, and not in vain;
Thy tears have wash'd away the stain,
An hundred deeds of after-time
Have well redeem'd that hour of crime;
Though darkening shame defile the name
And scutcheon of the traitor Grahame,
How Scotsmen for their king can die
Let Cameron and Montrose reply!
That heart, great, generous, warm, and true;
As countless ages onward roll
Such spirits come but far and few.
Weep, Scotland, weep, and not in vain;
Thy tears have wash'd away the stain,
An hundred deeds of after-time
Have well redeem'd that hour of crime;
114
And scutcheon of the traitor Grahame,
How Scotsmen for their king can die
Let Cameron and Montrose reply!
115
The Lay of Sir William Wallace.
The grey hill and the purple heath
Are round me as I stand;
The torrent hoar doth sternly roar,
The lake lies calm and grand;
The altars of the living rock
'Neath yon blue skies are bare,
And a thousand mountain-voices mock
Mine accents on the air.
Are round me as I stand;
The torrent hoar doth sternly roar,
The lake lies calm and grand;
The altars of the living rock
'Neath yon blue skies are bare,
And a thousand mountain-voices mock
Mine accents on the air.
O land most lovely and beloved,—
Whether in morn's bright hues,
Or in the veil, so soft, so pale,
Woven by twilight dews,
God's bounty pours from sun and cloud
Beauty on shore and wave,—
I lift my hands, I cry aloud,
Man shall not make thee slave!
Whether in morn's bright hues,
Or in the veil, so soft, so pale,
Woven by twilight dews,
God's bounty pours from sun and cloud
Beauty on shore and wave,—
I lift my hands, I cry aloud,
Man shall not make thee slave!
Ye everlasting witnesses,—
Most eloquent, though dumb,—
Sky, shore, and seas, light, mist, and breeze,
Receive me, when I come!
How could I, in this holy place,
Stand with unshamèd brow,
How look on earth's accusing face,
If I forget my vow?
Most eloquent, though dumb,—
Sky, shore, and seas, light, mist, and breeze,
Receive me, when I come!
How could I, in this holy place,
Stand with unshamèd brow,
How look on earth's accusing face,
If I forget my vow?
Not few nor slight his burdens are
Who gives himself to stand
Stedfast and sleepless as a star,
Watching his fatherland;
Strong must his will be, and serene,
His spirit pure and bright,
His conscience vigilant and keen,
His arm an arm of might.
Who gives himself to stand
Stedfast and sleepless as a star,
Watching his fatherland;
116
His spirit pure and bright,
His conscience vigilant and keen,
His arm an arm of might.
From the closed temple of his heart,
Sealed as a sacred spring,
Self must he spurn, and set apart
As an unholy thing;
Misconstrued where he loves the best,
Where most he hopes, betrayed,
The quenchless watchfire in his breast
Must neither fail nor fade.
Sealed as a sacred spring,
Self must he spurn, and set apart
As an unholy thing;
Misconstrued where he loves the best,
Where most he hopes, betrayed,
The quenchless watchfire in his breast
Must neither fail nor fade.
And his shall be a holier meed
Than earthly lips may tell;—
Not in the end, but in the deed,
Doth truest honour dwell.
His land is one vast monument,
Bearing the record high
Of a spirit with itself content,
And a name that cannot die!
Than earthly lips may tell;—
Not in the end, but in the deed,
Doth truest honour dwell.
His land is one vast monument,
Bearing the record high
Of a spirit with itself content,
And a name that cannot die!
For this, with joyous heart, I give
Fame, pleasure, love, and life;
Blest, for a cause so high, to live
In ceaseless, hopeless strife:
For this to die, with sword in hand,
Oh, blest and honour'd thrice!—
God, countrymen, and fatherland,
Accept the sacrifice!
Fame, pleasure, love, and life;
Blest, for a cause so high, to live
In ceaseless, hopeless strife:
For this to die, with sword in hand,
Oh, blest and honour'd thrice!—
God, countrymen, and fatherland,
Accept the sacrifice!
117
Bruce and Douglas.
LAY THE FIRST. THE DEATH OF BRUCE.
There is darkness in the chamber,
There is silence by the hearth,
For pale, and cold, and dying,
Lies a great one of the earth;
That eye's dim ray is faint and grey,
Those lips have lost their red,
And powerless is a people's love
To lift that languid head.
There is silence by the hearth,
For pale, and cold, and dying,
Lies a great one of the earth;
That eye's dim ray is faint and grey,
Those lips have lost their red,
And powerless is a people's love
To lift that languid head.
Through hilly Caledonia
Woe spreadeth far and fast,
As spreads the shadow of a cloud
Before a thunder-blast,—
For it is The Bruce whose mighty heart
Is beating now its last!
Woe spreadeth far and fast,
As spreads the shadow of a cloud
Before a thunder-blast,—
For it is The Bruce whose mighty heart
Is beating now its last!
A tearful group was gathered
Around that bed of death:
There stood undaunted Randolph,
Knight of the Perfect Wreath;
And Campbell, strong and stedfast
Through danger and despair;
And valiant Grey, and stern La Haye,
And loyal Lennox there;
There, last in name, but first in fame,
And faithful to the end,
Around that bed of death:
There stood undaunted Randolph,
Knight of the Perfect Wreath;
And Campbell, strong and stedfast
Through danger and despair;
And valiant Grey, and stern La Haye,
And loyal Lennox there;
There, last in name, but first in fame,
And faithful to the end,
118
All weeping stood Lord James the Good,
True knight and constant friend;
And there, with eyes of grave surprise,
Fast rooted to the place,
The monarch's son, scarce four years old,
Gazed in his father's face!
But the stillness of that solemn room
Was stirred by scarce a breath—
Silent were all, and silently
The Bruce encountered Death.
True knight and constant friend;
And there, with eyes of grave surprise,
Fast rooted to the place,
The monarch's son, scarce four years old,
Gazed in his father's face!
But the stillness of that solemn room
Was stirred by scarce a breath—
Silent were all, and silently
The Bruce encountered Death.
They stood and saw, with reverent awe,
How ever, upward glancing,
He seemed to watch some dim array
Of warrior-shapes advancing;
For as he lay in silence,
His life's long memories,
Like a slow and stately pageant,
Did pass before his eyes.
How ever, upward glancing,
He seemed to watch some dim array
Of warrior-shapes advancing;
For as he lay in silence,
His life's long memories,
Like a slow and stately pageant,
Did pass before his eyes.
And first—brief days of bitter shame,
Repented and disowned—
His early sins before him came,
By many an after-deed of fame
Effaced and well atoned.
One passing shade of noble grief
Darkened the brow of the dying chief,
But fast it faded from the sight,
Lost in his life's remember'd light;
For then of burning thoughts arose
A shadowy and unnumbered host,—
And Methven's field of blood and woes,
And Rachrin's unforgotten coast,
Where Freedom's form, through gloom and storm,
Did first for Scotland shine,
As faint by night a beacon-light
Glimmers through mist and brine.
And Arran's isle, by shady Clyde,
Where, when the summer noon was high,
Friends, parted long and sorely tried,
Met, and went forth to victory;
Where loud the Bruce his bugle wound,
And Douglas answered to the sound!
Repented and disowned—
His early sins before him came,
By many an after-deed of fame
Effaced and well atoned.
One passing shade of noble grief
Darkened the brow of the dying chief,
But fast it faded from the sight,
Lost in his life's remember'd light;
For then of burning thoughts arose
A shadowy and unnumbered host,—
And Methven's field of blood and woes,
And Rachrin's unforgotten coast,
119
Did first for Scotland shine,
As faint by night a beacon-light
Glimmers through mist and brine.
And Arran's isle, by shady Clyde,
Where, when the summer noon was high,
Friends, parted long and sorely tried,
Met, and went forth to victory;
Where loud the Bruce his bugle wound,
And Douglas answered to the sound!
Then name by name, and deed by deed,
Bright trains of glorious thought succeed;—
The midnight watch, till o'er the foam
Gleamed the lone beacon guiding home,
And on old Carrick's well-loved shore
The exile plants his foot once more;
The ford, beside whose waters grey
His single arm kept hosts at bay;
The hurrying march, the bold surprise,
The chase, the ambush, the disguise.
Now leader of a conquering band,
Now track'd by bloodhounds, swift and stern;
Till Glory's sun, at God's command,
Stood still at last on Bannockburn,
And stamped in characters of flame
On Scottish breasts The Bruce's name.—
Oh, seldom deathbed memories
Are populous with thoughts like these!
Bright trains of glorious thought succeed;—
The midnight watch, till o'er the foam
Gleamed the lone beacon guiding home,
And on old Carrick's well-loved shore
The exile plants his foot once more;
The ford, beside whose waters grey
His single arm kept hosts at bay;
The hurrying march, the bold surprise,
The chase, the ambush, the disguise.
Now leader of a conquering band,
Now track'd by bloodhounds, swift and stern;
Till Glory's sun, at God's command,
Stood still at last on Bannockburn,
And stamped in characters of flame
On Scottish breasts The Bruce's name.—
Oh, seldom deathbed memories
Are populous with thoughts like these!
To the face of the dying monarch
Came a sudden glow, and proud,
But brief as the tinge of sunset
Flung on a wandering cloud;
But see—his lips are parting,
Though scarce a sound be heard,—
Down stoops the noble Douglas
To catch each feeble word;
And all the knights and warriors,
Holding their tightened breath,
Close in a narrower circle
Around the couch of death.
Came a sudden glow, and proud,
120
Flung on a wandering cloud;
But see—his lips are parting,
Though scarce a sound be heard,—
Down stoops the noble Douglas
To catch each feeble word;
And all the knights and warriors,
Holding their tightened breath,
Close in a narrower circle
Around the couch of death.
“O Douglas, O my brother!
My heart is ill at ease;
Unceasingly mine aching eye
One haunting vision sees;
It sees the lengthened arches,
The solemn aisles of prayer,
And the death of the traitor Comyn
Upon the altar-stair.
Woe's me! that deed unholy
Lies like a heavy weight,
Crushing my wearied conscience
Before heaven's open gate.
Fain would I wend a pilgrim
Forth over land and sea,
Where God's dear Son for sinners died—
Alas, it must not be!
But if thy love be stedfast
As it was proved of yore,—
When these few struggling pulses
Are stilled, and all is o'er,
Unclose this lifeless bosom,
Take thence this heart of mine,
And bear it safely for my sake
To holy Palestine:
Well pleased my heart shall tarry
In thy fair company;
For it was wont, while yet in life,
Ever to dwell with thee!”
My heart is ill at ease;
Unceasingly mine aching eye
One haunting vision sees;
It sees the lengthened arches,
The solemn aisles of prayer,
And the death of the traitor Comyn
Upon the altar-stair.
Woe's me! that deed unholy
Lies like a heavy weight,
Crushing my wearied conscience
Before heaven's open gate.
Fain would I wend a pilgrim
Forth over land and sea,
Where God's dear Son for sinners died—
Alas, it must not be!
But if thy love be stedfast
As it was proved of yore,—
When these few struggling pulses
Are stilled, and all is o'er,
Unclose this lifeless bosom,
Take thence this heart of mine,
121
To holy Palestine:
Well pleased my heart shall tarry
In thy fair company;
For it was wont, while yet in life,
Ever to dwell with thee!”
The dying king was silent,
And down the Douglas kneeled—
A kiss upon his sovereign's hand
His ready promise sealed;
Never a word he answered,
In sorrow strong and deep,
But he wept, that iron soldier,
Tears such as women weep.
The Bruce hath prest him to his breast
With faint but eager grasp,
And the strong man's arm was tremulous
As that weak dying clasp!
And down the Douglas kneeled—
A kiss upon his sovereign's hand
His ready promise sealed;
Never a word he answered,
In sorrow strong and deep,
But he wept, that iron soldier,
Tears such as women weep.
The Bruce hath prest him to his breast
With faint but eager grasp,
And the strong man's arm was tremulous
As that weak dying clasp!
That last embrace unloosing,
The monarch feebly cried,
“Oh, lift me up, my comrades dear,
And let me look on Clyde!”
Widely they flung the casement,
And there in beauty lay
That broad and rolling river
All sparkling to the day.
The Bruce beheld its waters
With fixed and wistful eye,
Where calm regret was blending
With bright expectancy;
The monarch feebly cried,
“Oh, lift me up, my comrades dear,
And let me look on Clyde!”
Widely they flung the casement,
And there in beauty lay
That broad and rolling river
All sparkling to the day.
The Bruce beheld its waters
With fixed and wistful eye,
Where calm regret was blending
With bright expectancy;
122
And then, with sudden effort,
Somewhat his arms he raised,
As one that would have fain embraced
The things on which he gazed.
And then on those who held him
There fell a strange deep thrill—
For the lifted arms dropped heavily,
The mighty heart was still!
Somewhat his arms he raised,
As one that would have fain embraced
The things on which he gazed.
And then on those who held him
There fell a strange deep thrill—
For the lifted arms dropped heavily,
The mighty heart was still!
Hushed was the voice of weeping—
Mutely did Douglas close
The eyes of the illustrious dead,
As if for soft repose;
And backwards from the couch they drew,
Calmly and reverently;
For solemn is the face of death,
Though full of hope it be!
Mutely did Douglas close
The eyes of the illustrious dead,
As if for soft repose;
And backwards from the couch they drew,
Calmly and reverently;
For solemn is the face of death,
Though full of hope it be!
LAY THE SECOND. THE BRUCE'S HEART.
It was Lord James of Douglas
Set sail across the brine,
With a warrior band, to seek the land
Of holy Palestine.
Stately and gay was his bold array,
With plume and pennon streaming,
With the sounding horn at break of day,
With clustered lances gleaming.
Set sail across the brine,
With a warrior band, to seek the land
Of holy Palestine.
Stately and gay was his bold array,
With plume and pennon streaming,
With the sounding horn at break of day,
With clustered lances gleaming.
A nobler knight than the good Lord James,
In sooth, is seldom seen:
His words, though few, were straight and true
As his sword so bright and keen;
Dark was his cheek, and dark his eye,
But lit with a fiery glow,
And his form of lofty majesty
Beseemed a king, I trow.
In sooth, is seldom seen:
123
As his sword so bright and keen;
Dark was his cheek, and dark his eye,
But lit with a fiery glow,
And his form of lofty majesty
Beseemed a king, I trow.
Beneath his vest a silver case,
At a string of silk and gold,
For ever lay, by night and day
Upon his bosom bold;
That casket none must hope to win
By force or fraudful art,
For priceless was the wealth within—
It held the Bruce's heart!
At a string of silk and gold,
For ever lay, by night and day
Upon his bosom bold;
That casket none must hope to win
By force or fraudful art,
For priceless was the wealth within—
It held the Bruce's heart!
In far Dunfermline's towers he lay
In honoured sleep, and there
Had loyal Douglas kneel'd to pay
His vows, and lift his prayer,
When stole along the steeps and glades
The noiseless tread of Night,
And Moonshine with her massy shades
And cold clear lines of light.
In honoured sleep, and there
Had loyal Douglas kneel'd to pay
His vows, and lift his prayer,
When stole along the steeps and glades
The noiseless tread of Night,
And Moonshine with her massy shades
And cold clear lines of light.
And there he laid upon his breast
The heart of the mighty dead,—
Sign that his monarch's last behest
Should be accomplishèd.
That solemn hour, that awful scene,
Bare witness to his vow;
And soon the waves of ocean green
Danced round his daring prow.
The heart of the mighty dead,—
Sign that his monarch's last behest
Should be accomplishèd.
That solemn hour, that awful scene,
Bare witness to his vow;
And soon the waves of ocean green
Danced round his daring prow.
124
Lord James hath landed in fair Castile,—
Where, waiting by the sea,
Alphonso of Spain with a glittering train
Hath welcomed him royally:
But woe was in that lovely land;
For, from Granada's towers,
Dark Osmyn's fierce and ruthless band
Ravaged its myrtle bowers.
Where, waiting by the sea,
Alphonso of Spain with a glittering train
Hath welcomed him royally:
But woe was in that lovely land;
For, from Granada's towers,
Dark Osmyn's fierce and ruthless band
Ravaged its myrtle bowers.
The Douglas gazed on the leafy shore,
He gazed on the ocean blue,
And the swarthy light in his eye grew bright,
And his gleaming sword he drew:
“Wert thou at my side, my king,” he cried,
“Thy voice's well-known sounds
Would bid me aid these Christian knights
To chase these Paynim hounds!”
He gazed on the ocean blue,
And the swarthy light in his eye grew bright,
And his gleaming sword he drew:
“Wert thou at my side, my king,” he cried,
“Thy voice's well-known sounds
Would bid me aid these Christian knights
To chase these Paynim hounds!”
Then joy went forth through all the land;
And hurrying thousands came
To see the chief whose valorous hand
Had won him deathless fame.
There stood a knight on the monarch's right
Well proved in bloody wars,
His face, I trow, from chin to brow,
Was seamed with ghastly scars.
And hurrying thousands came
To see the chief whose valorous hand
Had won him deathless fame.
There stood a knight on the monarch's right
Well proved in bloody wars,
His face, I trow, from chin to brow,
Was seamed with ghastly scars.
“Lord Douglas, thou hast been,” quoth he,
“In battles from thy youth;
Good faith, I marvel much to see
Thy manly face so smooth.”
“I thank my God,” the Douglas said,
“Whose favour and whose grace
These hands have ever strengthenèd
Thus to protect my face.”
“In battles from thy youth;
Good faith, I marvel much to see
Thy manly face so smooth.”
“I thank my God,” the Douglas said,
“Whose favour and whose grace
125
Thus to protect my face.”
But the clarion's thrilling note was heard,—
And, loosing each his rein,
Their fiery steeds the warriors spurred
Down to the battle-plain;
So swiftly on their way they went,
So brightly their mail was flashing,
That they might seem a mountain-stream
O'er the edge of a tall cliff dashing.
And, loosing each his rein,
Their fiery steeds the warriors spurred
Down to the battle-plain;
So swiftly on their way they went,
So brightly their mail was flashing,
That they might seem a mountain-stream
O'er the edge of a tall cliff dashing.
In full noonday, the fair array
Of turban'd Moslems shone,
Like a cluster strange of gorgeous flowers
Of form and clime unknown;
But when his arm each lifted, swinging
His keen and twisted blade,
It was like a glittering snake upspringing
Out of the flower's soft shade.
Of turban'd Moslems shone,
Like a cluster strange of gorgeous flowers
Of form and clime unknown;
But when his arm each lifted, swinging
His keen and twisted blade,
It was like a glittering snake upspringing
Out of the flower's soft shade.
Lord Douglas looked on the crescent proud,
And his Christian heart beat high:
“Charge, countrymen!” he shouted loud
“For God and Scotland, I!”
Oh, never did eagle on its prey
Dart with a feller swoop
Than bounded the angry Scots that day
On the Saracen's startled troop!
And his Christian heart beat high:
“Charge, countrymen!” he shouted loud
“For God and Scotland, I!”
Oh, never did eagle on its prey
Dart with a feller swoop
Than bounded the angry Scots that day
On the Saracen's startled troop!
Like hunted tigers o'er the plain
The Moors they are flying fast —
Like huntsmen true the Scots pursue
With shout and clarion blast:
But track the tiger to his lair.
And the tiger turns to spring—
Brave hearts, beware; for still despair
Is a feared and powerful thing!
The Moors they are flying fast —
Like huntsmen true the Scots pursue
With shout and clarion blast:
126
And the tiger turns to spring—
Brave hearts, beware; for still despair
Is a feared and powerful thing!
The Moors have wheeled on that fatal field,
They gather and they stand,
And the wild long yell of “Allah hu!”
Is heard on every hand;
They are circling about their daring foes
In a grim and narrowing bound,
As the walls of a burning jungle close
The awe-struck traveller round.
They gather and they stand,
And the wild long yell of “Allah hu!”
Is heard on every hand;
They are circling about their daring foes
In a grim and narrowing bound,
As the walls of a burning jungle close
The awe-struck traveller round.
The foremost there fell brave St. Clair—
That saw the Douglas bold,
And did unloose the heart of Bruce
From its string of silk and gold;
He hurled it through the serried spears,
And his lifted voice rang high—
“Pass to the front, as thou wert wont!
I follow thee, or die!”
That saw the Douglas bold,
And did unloose the heart of Bruce
From its string of silk and gold;
He hurled it through the serried spears,
And his lifted voice rang high—
“Pass to the front, as thou wert wont!
I follow thee, or die!”
The day hath closed on fair Castile,
The sinking sun gleams red
On shattered plumes and broken steel,
And piles of gallant dead;
In the centre of that bloody field
Lord Douglas lay in death,—
Above him was his own good shield,
And the Bruce's heart beneath!
The sinking sun gleams red
On shattered plumes and broken steel,
And piles of gallant dead;
In the centre of that bloody field
Lord Douglas lay in death,—
Above him was his own good shield,
And the Bruce's heart beneath!
No tears for him! In Honour's light,
As he had lived, he fell.
Good night, thou dauntless soul, good night,
For sure thou sleepest well!
Full hearts and reverent hands had those
Who bare thee on thy bier
Back to the place of thy repose—
Thy Scotland, famed and dear!
As he had lived, he fell.
127
For sure thou sleepest well!
Full hearts and reverent hands had those
Who bare thee on thy bier
Back to the place of thy repose—
Thy Scotland, famed and dear!
A valiant knight the casket bore:
And for that honoured part,
His scutcheon wore for evermore
A padlock and a heart.
They buried the Douglas in St. Bride;
And the heart of Bruce they laid
In Melrose stately aisles, beside
The altar's sacred shade.
And for that honoured part,
His scutcheon wore for evermore
A padlock and a heart.
They buried the Douglas in St. Bride;
And the heart of Bruce they laid
In Melrose stately aisles, beside
The altar's sacred shade.
Not mine, with hand profane, to trace
Grey Melrose towers around,—
There is a Presence in the place,
Making it holy ground.
Strewing their snows on that fair spot,
May countless years succeed,
But they sever not the name of Scott
From Melrose and from Tweed!
Grey Melrose towers around,—
There is a Presence in the place,
Making it holy ground.
Strewing their snows on that fair spot,
May countless years succeed,
But they sever not the name of Scott
From Melrose and from Tweed!
128
Grizzel Hume.
Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth, afterwards Lord Marchmont, was
one of the leaders of the Jerviswood plot in the reign of Charles II.
When this conspiracy was discovered, Sir Patrick, having narrowly
escaped falling into the hands of those who were sent to arrest him, concealed
himself in a vault in the churchyard of Polwarth, and remained
there till his enemies had given up seeking for him in that neighbourhood.
During his sojourn in this dark and melancholy lurking-place,
his daughter Grizzel, a girl about eighteen years old, conveyed provisions
to her father every night. She was obliged to go forth alone, at midnight,
for this purpose; and great must have been her alarm and anxiety
during each of these perilous expeditions; for had chance discovered her
to any evil-disposed person, the secret of her father's hiding-place must
inevitably have been discovered, and there can be but little doubt that
he would have shared the fate of the noble Baillie of Jerviswood, who,
having refused to purchase safety by becoming a witness against Lord
Russell, suffered death about this time.
Vide Scott's
Tales of a Grandfather: 2d Series, vol. ii.
When midnight flung o'er earth and sea
Her solemn veil of gloom,
All fearless and alone was she,
The Lady Grizzel Hume,—
Lighted beneath that sable sky
By her young heart's fidelity.
Her solemn veil of gloom,
All fearless and alone was she,
The Lady Grizzel Hume,—
Lighted beneath that sable sky
By her young heart's fidelity.
With eyes of hope, and peace, and truth,—
Violets half hid in snow;
Wearing the glory of her youth
Upon a cloudless brow;
Oh, seldom hath the silent night
Look'd down upon so fair a sight!
Violets half hid in snow;
Wearing the glory of her youth
Upon a cloudless brow;
Oh, seldom hath the silent night
Look'd down upon so fair a sight!
129
She glides along the shadowy copse,
By field, and hill, and tree,
Light as the noiseless dew, that drops
When none can hear nor see;
Before her home at last she stands,
And lifts the latch with trembling hands.
By field, and hill, and tree,
Light as the noiseless dew, that drops
When none can hear nor see;
Before her home at last she stands,
And lifts the latch with trembling hands.
“Oh, speak, my child, the night is dark,
Thou comest pale and fast!”
“I heard the startled watchdog's bark
As his lonely lair I past,
And hurried on, in fear lest he
Should rouse some lurking enemy.”
Thou comest pale and fast!”
“I heard the startled watchdog's bark
As his lonely lair I past,
And hurried on, in fear lest he
Should rouse some lurking enemy.”
“And couldst thou pass the churchyard drear,
Nor pause in chilly dread?”
“Nay, mother, wherefore should I fear
The mute and peaceful dead?
I only thought, how calm they sleep
Who neither feel, nor fear, nor weep.”
Nor pause in chilly dread?”
“Nay, mother, wherefore should I fear
The mute and peaceful dead?
I only thought, how calm they sleep
Who neither feel, nor fear, nor weep.”
“Did not thy weary footsteps stray?
The path was dark and long.”
“Oh, God was with me on my way,
And so my heart was strong;
I ever thought the stars did shed
A gracious blessing on my head.”
The path was dark and long.”
“Oh, God was with me on my way,
And so my heart was strong;
I ever thought the stars did shed
A gracious blessing on my head.”
“And didst thou see thy father's face?”—
(But here she paused to weep.)
“Ah, mother, yes! I pray for grace
His sweet behest to keep;
He bade me labour still to make
Thy spirit happy, for his sake.”
(But here she paused to weep.)
“Ah, mother, yes! I pray for grace
His sweet behest to keep;
He bade me labour still to make
Thy spirit happy, for his sake.”
130
“Bless thee, my comfort and my child!—
What said he further?—speak!”
“He parted back my hair, and smiled,
And kiss'd my burning cheek,
And said I bravely did, and well,
To visit his forsaken cell.”
What said he further?—speak!”
“He parted back my hair, and smiled,
And kiss'd my burning cheek,
And said I bravely did, and well,
To visit his forsaken cell.”
“And look'd he pale?” “Ay, somewhat pale,
But firm and blithe of cheer,
Like one whose heart could never fail,
Whose spirit never fear;
And calm and stedfastly he spake
Of things whereat my heart must break.
But firm and blithe of cheer,
Like one whose heart could never fail,
Whose spirit never fear;
And calm and stedfastly he spake
Of things whereat my heart must break.
Yes, changeless was his aspect when
He said that he might die;
But he murmur'd Monmouth's name, and then
A tear was in his eye,
And he brake off, as though in fear
That sound of woe to speak or hear.
He said that he might die;
But he murmur'd Monmouth's name, and then
A tear was in his eye,
And he brake off, as though in fear
That sound of woe to speak or hear.
He bade me pray at morn and eve
That God would make him strong
Calmly to die, but never leave
The right, nor love the wrong.
I pray,—sweet mother, join me thus,—
God give my father back to us!”
That God would make him strong
Calmly to die, but never leave
The right, nor love the wrong.
I pray,—sweet mother, join me thus,—
God give my father back to us!”
Mother and child knelt mutely there,—
A sight that angels love;
The incense of their tearful prayer
Rose to the heavens above;
And softer sleep, and hopes more bright,
Came to their troubled hearts that night.
A sight that angels love;
The incense of their tearful prayer
Rose to the heavens above;
And softer sleep, and hopes more bright,
Came to their troubled hearts that night.
131
Full oft, when fairer days were come,
Beside a peaceful hearth
That father bless'd his God for home,—
The happiest place on earth;
And bent his head, and smiled to see
His daughter's first-born climb his knee.
Beside a peaceful hearth
That father bless'd his God for home,—
The happiest place on earth;
And bent his head, and smiled to see
His daughter's first-born climb his knee.
Then as the wondering child would gaze
Into the old man's face,
He told of dark and troublous days,
Defeat, despair, disgrace;
Of Sedgemoor's field — oh, bitter word!
And lone Inchinnan's fatal ford.
Into the old man's face,
He told of dark and troublous days,
Defeat, despair, disgrace;
Of Sedgemoor's field — oh, bitter word!
And lone Inchinnan's fatal ford.
And how, through many a weary day,
In want, and woe, and gloom,
A hunted fugitive he lay
The tenant of a tomb,
With one weak girl, so pale and fair,
His ministering spirit there;
In want, and woe, and gloom,
A hunted fugitive he lay
The tenant of a tomb,
With one weak girl, so pale and fair,
His ministering spirit there;
How that bold heart and childlike form
Night after night would brave
The blast, the darkness, and the storm,
To seek his lonely cave—
He paused, to shew with grateful pride
The blushing matron at his side.
Night after night would brave
The blast, the darkness, and the storm,
To seek his lonely cave—
He paused, to shew with grateful pride
The blushing matron at his side.
132
Francis the First at Liberty,
AFTER THAT SHAMEFUL IMPRISONMENT WHICH WAS THE RESULT OF HIS DEFEAT AT PAVIA.
I am once more a king!
Wave forth my pennon fair!
My foot is on mine own dear soil,
I am free as my native air!
Spring on, my gallant steed,
Thou mayst bound blithely on,
For thou bear'st to his home a warrior freed,
And a king to his crown and throne!
Wave forth my pennon fair!
My foot is on mine own dear soil,
I am free as my native air!
Spring on, my gallant steed,
Thou mayst bound blithely on,
For thou bear'st to his home a warrior freed,
And a king to his crown and throne!
Leap from thy sheath, my sword!
I may wield thee once again;
I could not brook on thy sheen to look
While writhing in a chain.
I will not bid thee shine
To venge thy master's wrongs,
For, oh, to a heart as light as mine
No bitterness belongs!
I may wield thee once again;
I could not brook on thy sheen to look
While writhing in a chain.
I will not bid thee shine
To venge thy master's wrongs,
For, oh, to a heart as light as mine
No bitterness belongs!
These are thy vales, fair France!
Mine, mine, this matchless land!
Dearer than gold, in heaps untold,
Or aught save faith and brand.
The song of thy birds is sweet,
Thy glens seem doubly fair,
And, oh, how my heart leaps forth to meet
Each breath of thy balmy air!
Mine, mine, this matchless land!
Dearer than gold, in heaps untold,
Or aught save faith and brand.
The song of thy birds is sweet,
Thy glens seem doubly fair,
And, oh, how my heart leaps forth to meet
Each breath of thy balmy air!
Play on my brow, cool breeze,
For thou wakenest in my heart
High thoughts and generous sympathies,
Which long have slept apart.
It is the voice of France
Which breathes upon me now;
I will open my breast to thy glad advance,—
Play lightly on my brow!
For thou wakenest in my heart
133
Which long have slept apart.
It is the voice of France
Which breathes upon me now;
I will open my breast to thy glad advance,—
Play lightly on my brow!
I am free! I am free! I am free!
I may give my full heart way;
Its fire represt, hath scorch'd my breast,
It pants for the open day.
I am free! I am free! I am free!
Oh, is it a dream of joy?
Or do I stand, on my native land,
And look on mine own blue sky?
I may give my full heart way;
Its fire represt, hath scorch'd my breast,
It pants for the open day.
I am free! I am free! I am free!
Oh, is it a dream of joy?
Or do I stand, on my native land,
And look on mine own blue sky?
I do, I do! for when
Did a Spaniard's icy brow
Shine in the light of smiles so bright
As those which meet me now?
Mine own—ye are all mine own!
I laugh at treason's darts;
For my people's love is my loftiest throne,
My surest fence their hearts.
Did a Spaniard's icy brow
Shine in the light of smiles so bright
As those which meet me now?
Mine own—ye are all mine own!
I laugh at treason's darts;
For my people's love is my loftiest throne,
My surest fence their hearts.
And, by mine own true sword,
No wrong shall e'er abase
The soul on which your love is pour'd,
To do that love disgrace!
Still in my changeless breast
Dwells one unsullied spring;
Free, chained, exalted, or opprest,
My soul is still a king!
No wrong shall e'er abase
The soul on which your love is pour'd,
To do that love disgrace!
Still in my changeless breast
Dwells one unsullied spring;
Free, chained, exalted, or opprest,
My soul is still a king!
134
The Battle of Antioch.
[_]
[The legend on which this ballad is founded is narrated in Mr. James's Life of Richard Cœur de Lion.]
The clear eye of morning was cloudless and blue,
And the air was all fresh with the fragrance of dew,
And the cheeks of the Christians with watching were pale;
But their hearts were as strong as their double-link'd mail.
And the air was all fresh with the fragrance of dew,
And the cheeks of the Christians with watching were pale;
But their hearts were as strong as their double-link'd mail.
Round the walls of that city so stately and fair
The Saracen banners were soaring in air;
And countless and bright was that host of the brave
As sparkles of foam on the storm-cloven wave.
The Saracen banners were soaring in air;
And countless and bright was that host of the brave
As sparkles of foam on the storm-cloven wave.
Lo, the gates are flung wide, and the Christian host comes,
Their plumes waving time to the roar of their drums;
Pale, pale was each cheek, and proud, proud was each eye,
For the souls that spake through them were purposed to die!
Their plumes waving time to the roar of their drums;
Pale, pale was each cheek, and proud, proud was each eye,
For the souls that spake through them were purposed to die!
Like youth in its buoyancy, joyous and proud,
Was the shining array of the Saracen crowd;
Like the last hours of manhood, all grief-worn and wan,
But unshaken and fearless, the Christians came on.
Was the shining array of the Saracen crowd;
Like the last hours of manhood, all grief-worn and wan,
But unshaken and fearless, the Christians came on.
They met as the hurricane meeteth the storm
When the fiend of the tempest unveils his dark form,
And the lightnings are marshall'd in heaven's high field,—
Woe, woe for the Christians! they waver, they yield!
When the fiend of the tempest unveils his dark form,
And the lightnings are marshall'd in heaven's high field,—
Woe, woe for the Christians! they waver, they yield!
They waver, the weary, the faint, and the few;
But still bold is their front as their spirits are true;
And brave were the hearts that had breathed out their life
Ere the banner of Tancred went down in the strife.
But still bold is their front as their spirits are true;
And brave were the hearts that had breathed out their life
Ere the banner of Tancred went down in the strife.
135
Full dark was the paleness which then overspread
The face of their leader, as groaning he said,
Upstretching his arms to the pitiless sky,
“Now God to the rescue, for man can but die!”
The face of their leader, as groaning he said,
Upstretching his arms to the pitiless sky,
“Now God to the rescue, for man can but die!”
And lo, as he speaks, in the distance appears
A band of bright horsemen with star-pointed spears;
Their vesture was white as the sea's snowy surf,
And printless the step of their steeds on the turf.
A band of bright horsemen with star-pointed spears;
Their vesture was white as the sea's snowy surf,
And printless the step of their steeds on the turf.
So mutely they swept o'er the hill's haughty crest,
As the snow rushes down on the river's broad breast,
All noiseless and swift, all resplendent and white,
Like the fires of the north in the loneness of night.
As the snow rushes down on the river's broad breast,
All noiseless and swift, all resplendent and white,
Like the fires of the north in the loneness of night.
They turn not, they pause not, they break not their ranks,
But, fast as a torrent o'er-sweeping its banks,
Yet firm as the marching of battle-proved men,
They charge and they shatter the false Saracèn.
But, fast as a torrent o'er-sweeping its banks,
Yet firm as the marching of battle-proved men,
They charge and they shatter the false Saracèn.
That charge who withstandeth? They came like the wind,
And they went as they came—but what left they behind?
In shame and in shrinking, in wounds and in loss,
The Crescent hath fled from the might of the Cross!
And they went as they came—but what left they behind?
In shame and in shrinking, in wounds and in loss,
The Crescent hath fled from the might of the Cross!
The Christians have kneeled 'mid the dying and slain,
And their psalm of thanksgiving soars up from the plain:
“Now, down with the Paynim! his power is o'erthrown,
For God hath been speedy to succour His own!”
And their psalm of thanksgiving soars up from the plain:
“Now, down with the Paynim! his power is o'erthrown,
For God hath been speedy to succour His own!”
136
The Death of the Captal de Buch.
[_]
[The Captal de Buch was truly a knight sans peur et sans reproche. That fierce and savage insurrection of the populace, called the Jacquerie, was put down by his valour and resolution, almost unassisted. He was the friend and brother in arms of the Black Prince, whose death was communicated to him while languishing in a French prison. On hearing the mournful tidings he refused all comfort, and died within two or three days—one of the few authentic instances on record of death from what is commonly called “a broken heart.”]
The royal moon shone silver bright
Upon a prison-grate,
Where, his chains glancing to her light,
A lonely captive sate;
Strange was it to behold his brow
So stately and so free,
For twice three years had witnessed now
His stern captivity.
Upon a prison-grate,
Where, his chains glancing to her light,
A lonely captive sate;
Strange was it to behold his brow
So stately and so free,
For twice three years had witnessed now
His stern captivity.
No change had past upon his face,
No dimness on his eye,
Where shone in glory and in grace
The soul of chivalry!
True had he kept his loyal faith,
And true his knightly sword,
Nor bribe, nor threat, nor chains, nor death,
Could turn him from his word.
No dimness on his eye,
Where shone in glory and in grace
The soul of chivalry!
True had he kept his loyal faith,
And true his knightly sword,
Nor bribe, nor threat, nor chains, nor death,
Could turn him from his word.
Slow moves the bolt—his captors come;
He starts with burning cheek;
“Oh, say, what news? what news from home?
How fares my chieftain? Speak!”
Their eyes no sympathy evince,
They answer cold and slow,
“Nay, ask not of thy sable prince,
He died six days ago!”
He starts with burning cheek;
“Oh, say, what news? what news from home?
How fares my chieftain? Speak!”
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They answer cold and slow,
“Nay, ask not of thy sable prince,
He died six days ago!”
Stern were their hearts and chill with pride;
But when his face they saw,
They could not choose but turn aside
Their gaze in very awe:
What captive years had failed to do,
At once that instant wrought,
The heart which nothing could subdue,
Was broken—by a thought!
But when his face they saw,
They could not choose but turn aside
Their gaze in very awe:
What captive years had failed to do,
At once that instant wrought,
The heart which nothing could subdue,
Was broken—by a thought!
His mailless hands awhile he prest
Over his aching eyes,
Until the tumult of his breast
Brake forth in words and sighs:
“Ah, thou, the gentlest, bravest, first,
Model of friend and foe,
How should the heart refuse to burst
Which hears that thou art low?
Over his aching eyes,
Until the tumult of his breast
Brake forth in words and sighs:
“Ah, thou, the gentlest, bravest, first,
Model of friend and foe,
How should the heart refuse to burst
Which hears that thou art low?
Not on the battle-plain, my chief,
Where knightly banners wave,
And trumpets sound their martial grief
Over the hero's grave;
Not on thy shield or in thy tent,
With comrades weeping nigh,—
In this thy native element
Thou wert not given to die!
Where knightly banners wave,
And trumpets sound their martial grief
Over the hero's grave;
Not on thy shield or in thy tent,
With comrades weeping nigh,—
In this thy native element
Thou wert not given to die!
But sickness had its task, to wear
Thy glorious soul away,
And I,—O God!—I was not there
To soothe thy closing day!
With nought to cheer thy wasting pain
Save thine unconquered heart
(That all-sufficient to sustain),
So, so didst thou depart!
Thy glorious soul away,
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To soothe thy closing day!
With nought to cheer thy wasting pain
Save thine unconquered heart
(That all-sufficient to sustain),
So, so didst thou depart!
I lift no prayer for thy repose,
God gives the crown to worth,
And well I know thou art of those
Who earn'd it while on earth;
For me—my pilgrimage is done,
My noon of life is grey,
Mine eyes have seen their guiding sun
Go down while it was day!”
God gives the crown to worth,
And well I know thou art of those
Who earn'd it while on earth;
For me—my pilgrimage is done,
My noon of life is grey,
Mine eyes have seen their guiding sun
Go down while it was day!”
He ceased, and from his side unbound
The sword which still he wore;
He cast it sternly on the ground,
And grasp'd it never more!
He turn'd his face against the wall,
Shut fast his tearless eye,
And, reckless of the words of all,
So did the hero die!
The sword which still he wore;
He cast it sternly on the ground,
And grasp'd it never more!
He turn'd his face against the wall,
Shut fast his tearless eye,
And, reckless of the words of all,
So did the hero die!
139
The Choice of the Christian Heroes.
It was the hour of evening prayer,
It was the holy Sabbath night,
Sunset was glowing in the air,
Placid, and calm, and bright;
When fierce Saladin did call
To his side his warriors all,
And in proud array they wound their way
Up green Tiberias' height.
It was the holy Sabbath night,
Sunset was glowing in the air,
Placid, and calm, and bright;
When fierce Saladin did call
To his side his warriors all,
And in proud array they wound their way
Up green Tiberias' height.
With fettered hand and weary soul
Each Christian captive followed on,
Submissive to that base control
Till the fair hill was won;
Oh, what depth of fire supprest
Must have burned in every breast!
For they were the knights of a thousand fights,
Of the Temple and St. John.
Each Christian captive followed on,
Submissive to that base control
Till the fair hill was won;
Oh, what depth of fire supprest
Must have burned in every breast!
For they were the knights of a thousand fights,
Of the Temple and St. John.
They stood and held their very breath,
With rising heart and filling eye,
For the blue sea of Genesareth
Beneath their feet did lie;
Yon hills are guardians of the shore
Where oft their Saviour trod before;
And their hands are bound, and the holy ground
Is the prey of Moslemrie!
With rising heart and filling eye,
For the blue sea of Genesareth
Beneath their feet did lie;
Yon hills are guardians of the shore
Where oft their Saviour trod before;
And their hands are bound, and the holy ground
Is the prey of Moslemrie!
And lo! it is the very hour
When on their far, their Christian shore,
Those they best love, from hall and bower
Wend to the church's door;
Full many a heart is lifting prayer
For them—the lonely captives there!
The old knights frown, and the young look down,
For their eyes are running o'er.
When on their far, their Christian shore,
140
Wend to the church's door;
Full many a heart is lifting prayer
For them—the lonely captives there!
The old knights frown, and the young look down,
For their eyes are running o'er.
Stately and sad, an old knight spake:
“Why, tyrants, have ye brought us here?
Say, did ye wish to see them break,
The hearts that cannot fear?
Know, our God will give us might
Even to look upon this sight.
My brethren, dry each drooping eye;
The foe beholds your tear!”
“Why, tyrants, have ye brought us here?
Say, did ye wish to see them break,
The hearts that cannot fear?
Know, our God will give us might
Even to look upon this sight.
My brethren, dry each drooping eye;
The foe beholds your tear!”
The Moslem chieftain answered him:
“Captives, look round ye, as ye stand;
Look, ere the twilight closeth dim,
Upon this lovely land;
See how the clouds yon hills enfold,
Turning their purple into gold;
For the sun's last light makes all things bright
Save you, the captive band.
“Captives, look round ye, as ye stand;
Look, ere the twilight closeth dim,
Upon this lovely land;
See how the clouds yon hills enfold,
Turning their purple into gold;
For the sun's last light makes all things bright
Save you, the captive band.
Is not the earth around ye fair?
And do your hearts desire to die,
Nor breathe once more the gladsome air,
When morning paints the sky?
A precious thing is the light of day,
And life should not be flung away;
Say, would ye be on the green earth free?
Pine ye for liberty?
And do your hearts desire to die,
Nor breathe once more the gladsome air,
When morning paints the sky?
A precious thing is the light of day,
And life should not be flung away;
Say, would ye be on the green earth free?
Pine ye for liberty?
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Free shall ye be, by a sultan's word,
A word that ne'er was broken yet,
Take ye but Allah for your Lord,
And bow to Mahomet.
Your trusty swords I will restore,
Your heads shall wear the helm once more,
By the Moslem band who rule this land
Ye shall be as brethren met.
A word that ne'er was broken yet,
Take ye but Allah for your Lord,
And bow to Mahomet.
Your trusty swords I will restore,
Your heads shall wear the helm once more,
By the Moslem band who rule this land
Ye shall be as brethren met.
Refuse—yon scimiters are keen;
A stern and speedy death is near!”
Full awful were those words, I ween;
They thrill'd against the ear!
What did that true band reply?
Every knight kneeled down to die,
For they looked on the sea of Galilee,
And one word they answer'd—“Here?
A stern and speedy death is near!”
Full awful were those words, I ween;
They thrill'd against the ear!
What did that true band reply?
Every knight kneeled down to die,
For they looked on the sea of Galilee,
And one word they answer'd—“Here?
Here, should the brave deny their God?
Here, should the true forsake their faith?
Here, where the living footsteps trod
Of Him they own'd in death?
Here, where the silent earth and sea
Bare witness to the Deity?”
There was not a heart would from Christ depart
By blue Genesareth!
Here, should the true forsake their faith?
Here, where the living footsteps trod
Of Him they own'd in death?
Here, where the silent earth and sea
Bare witness to the Deity?”
There was not a heart would from Christ depart
By blue Genesareth!
So, one by one, they kneeled and died,
That band of heroes and of saints,
And the deep, deep stain of a crimson tide
The hill's lone greenness taints.
The hurrying work of death was done
Ere in the pure wave sank the sun,
And the twilight air was full of prayer,
But not of weak complaints.
That band of heroes and of saints,
And the deep, deep stain of a crimson tide
The hill's lone greenness taints.
The hurrying work of death was done
Ere in the pure wave sank the sun,
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But not of weak complaints.
Oh, many tears, ye brave and true,
Oh, many tears for those were shed
Whose corpses by the waters blue
Lay piled—unhonoured dead!
Shrined in many a bleeding heart,
Never did their names depart!
And heaven's own light for many a night
Play'd round each sleeping head.
Oh, many tears for those were shed
Whose corpses by the waters blue
Lay piled—unhonoured dead!
Shrined in many a bleeding heart,
Never did their names depart!
And heaven's own light for many a night
Play'd round each sleeping head.
But a purer light than that whose ray
Around their tombless corpses shone,
Was kindled in hearts far away
By the deed which they had done!
And if the warriors' tempted faith
Grew feeble in the hour of death,
“Remember,” they cried, “how the Templars died,
And the true knights of St. John!”
Around their tombless corpses shone,
Was kindled in hearts far away
By the deed which they had done!
And if the warriors' tempted faith
Grew feeble in the hour of death,
“Remember,” they cried, “how the Templars died,
And the true knights of St. John!”
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The Brethren of Port Royal.
[_]
[The Jansenist settlement at Port Royal was composed of men whose demeanour and occupations realised the purest idea of a monastic life that ever presented itself to the mind of a religious enthusiast. The convent was governed by the celebrated Mère Angélique, and among the brethren were to be counted some of the noblest names in France. When the wars of the Fronde first broke out, De Sericour, one of the brethren, and, like many of his companions, formerly a knight and a warrior, cast aside his cowl, and laid hand on his sword. His example was speedily followed by the others; in a few moments the quiet valley was converted into a camp—the peaceful band of monks became a gallant and eager army. Fortifications were commenced; and the work of disciplining forces, not indeed inexperienced, but forgetful, through long disuse, of their former soul-stirring experience, was entrusted to De Sericour. In the midst of these warlike preparations, De Sacy, another of their number, and a relation of the impetuous De Sericour, recalled to the minds of the brethren their vow and sacred profession. In an instant their arms were cast aside, the note of the trumpet was exchanged for the solemn sound of the organ and the plaintive tones of the penitential psalm; and the valley, with its singular inhabitants, was restored to the calm and peace of its original aspect, in a space of time yet shorter than that which had sufficed for the first change.]
Upon St. Mary's night
Was met a holy band,
In prayer and fasting to unite
For their afflicted land;
The moon shone clear and pale
Upon the house of prayer,
And the solemn organ-tones did sail
Along the stedfast air.
Was met a holy band,
In prayer and fasting to unite
For their afflicted land;
The moon shone clear and pale
Upon the house of prayer,
And the solemn organ-tones did sail
Along the stedfast air.
Upon a kneeling crowd
That silver radiance shone,
With hearts upraised and faces bow'd
At God's eternal throne;
And strange was it to see,
As ye past their ranks along,
The difference and the unity
Of that assembled throng.
That silver radiance shone,
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At God's eternal throne;
And strange was it to see,
As ye past their ranks along,
The difference and the unity
Of that assembled throng.
Some were in youth's first bloom,
And some in manhood's prime,
Some verging on the open tomb,
And waiting God's good time;
From ploughing summer's earth
Some to those walls were come,
And the high stamp of noble birth
Was on the brows of some.
And some in manhood's prime,
Some verging on the open tomb,
And waiting God's good time;
From ploughing summer's earth
Some to those walls were come,
And the high stamp of noble birth
Was on the brows of some.
But a holy band they were,—
One Lord, one faith, one heart,
A brotherhood of praise and prayer,
From the vain world apart:
Beneath war's iron rod
Their groaning land was cast;
But in simple toils, and serving God,
Their quiet days they past.
One Lord, one faith, one heart,
A brotherhood of praise and prayer,
From the vain world apart:
Beneath war's iron rod
Their groaning land was cast;
But in simple toils, and serving God,
Their quiet days they past.
Hard must it be to bow
Beneath that stedfast chain,
Though no irrevocable vow
Their willing hearts restrain.
Seest thou yon kneeler there?
Ay, mark him well—the hand
Now clasp'd in penitential prayer
Once shook the knightly brand.
Beneath that stedfast chain,
Though no irrevocable vow
Their willing hearts restrain.
Seest thou yon kneeler there?
Ay, mark him well—the hand
Now clasp'd in penitential prayer
Once shook the knightly brand.
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Does not that governed eye
Full many a story tell
Of struggle, strife, and victory,
Won in his narrow cell;
The world's vain lore unlearned,
Its vainer hopes unfelt?—
But, ah, how the warrior-heart hath burned
Beneath that iron belt!
Full many a story tell
Of struggle, strife, and victory,
Won in his narrow cell;
The world's vain lore unlearned,
Its vainer hopes unfelt?—
But, ah, how the warrior-heart hath burned
Beneath that iron belt!
Long, long he strove to lift
His spirit with the psalm,
Pleading and striving for the gift
Of patience, deep and calm;
But as upon the air
Those soaring accents float,
There blended with the voice of prayer
One distant trumpet-note.
His spirit with the psalm,
Pleading and striving for the gift
Of patience, deep and calm;
But as upon the air
Those soaring accents float,
There blended with the voice of prayer
One distant trumpet-note.
Like to the purple gloom
Of storm-clouds on the sea,
When earth is silent as the tomb,
And heaven frowns terribly,
Was the darkness that o'erspread
That soldier-hermit's brow:
His eye is proud, his cheek is red—
He's all the warrior now!
Of storm-clouds on the sea,
When earth is silent as the tomb,
And heaven frowns terribly,
Was the darkness that o'erspread
That soldier-hermit's brow:
His eye is proud, his cheek is red—
He's all the warrior now!
Like to the sudden light
Upon those storm-clouds breaking,
When tempest rushes on the night,
And hurricanes are waking,
Was the spirit that returned
To his uplifted eye,—
A fire long stifled, but which burned
On its old hearth eagerly.
Upon those storm-clouds breaking,
When tempest rushes on the night,
And hurricanes are waking,
Was the spirit that returned
To his uplifted eye,—
146
On its old hearth eagerly.
“Up, up!” he cried, “awake!
Gather for France—for France!
For cowl, and staff, and crosier, take
The helmet and the lance!
We see our country bleed,
We hear the trumpet's tone,
And how should we need a chief to lead?—
Our hearts shall lead us on!
Gather for France—for France!
For cowl, and staff, and crosier, take
The helmet and the lance!
We see our country bleed,
We hear the trumpet's tone,
And how should we need a chief to lead?—
Our hearts shall lead us on!
Our joyous land of France,
Our lovely, our adored,
Shall she—advance, my friends, advance!—
I cannot speak the word.
This is a holy war,
Good angels on us smile;
Soldiers we were, and monks we are,
But Frenchmen all the while!
Our lovely, our adored,
Shall she—advance, my friends, advance!—
I cannot speak the word.
This is a holy war,
Good angels on us smile;
Soldiers we were, and monks we are,
But Frenchmen all the while!
And our hands are now unbound,
And we all are knights once more,
And the old-forgotten cry shall sound,
‘God and De Sericour!’”
Their hearts took up that cry;
And, like a lion's roar,
The long aisles echo thunderingly,
“God and De Sericour!”
And we all are knights once more,
And the old-forgotten cry shall sound,
‘God and De Sericour!’”
Their hearts took up that cry;
And, like a lion's roar,
The long aisles echo thunderingly,
“God and De Sericour!”
And the anthem died away,
And the sounds of prayer were lost:
The monks and the beadsmen, where are they?—
Ye see an armèd host!
An armèd host ye see;
For, swift as light or thought,
Some of its ancient panoply
Each eager hand hath caught.
And the sounds of prayer were lost:
The monks and the beadsmen, where are they?—
Ye see an armèd host!
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For, swift as light or thought,
Some of its ancient panoply
Each eager hand hath caught.
Lances were glimmering then;
And, over silvery hair,
Upon the brows of aged men
The helmet sparkled fair;
But dimm'd with many a stain,
For the rust had eaten through them:
But the spirits were themselves again,
And how should man subdue them?
And, over silvery hair,
Upon the brows of aged men
The helmet sparkled fair;
But dimm'd with many a stain,
For the rust had eaten through them:
But the spirits were themselves again,
And how should man subdue them?
They march into the field,
De Sericour the first;
Oh, as his hand resumed the shield,
Seemed that his heart would burst!
Beneath the moon's pale lamp
War's business was begun,
And the quiet vale became a camp
Before the dawn of sun.
De Sericour the first;
Oh, as his hand resumed the shield,
Seemed that his heart would burst!
Beneath the moon's pale lamp
War's business was begun,
And the quiet vale became a camp
Before the dawn of sun.
And the work of war went on,
There was hurrying to and fro,
The trumpet gave its cheering tone,
“Set forward on the foe!”
How were their spirits stirred,
All panting to begin!—
But lo, a calm, still voice is heard—
It warneth them of sin!
There was hurrying to and fro,
The trumpet gave its cheering tone,
“Set forward on the foe!”
How were their spirits stirred,
All panting to begin!—
But lo, a calm, still voice is heard—
It warneth them of sin!
Of Christian love and hope,
Of their adopted law,
Forbidding strife with strife to cope,
It speaks in holy awe;
It calls them to submit
To that accustomed yoke,
And to weep that they rejected it,—
It was De Sacy spoke.
Of their adopted law,
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It speaks in holy awe;
It calls them to submit
To that accustomed yoke,
And to weep that they rejected it,—
It was De Sacy spoke.
Mutely they hear the word,
And mutely all obey;
Cuirass, and lance, and helm, and sword,
At once are flung away;
And the noon-tide sun shines bright
Upon an altered scene,
The vale lies placid in its light
As it hath ever been!
And mutely all obey;
Cuirass, and lance, and helm, and sword,
At once are flung away;
And the noon-tide sun shines bright
Upon an altered scene,
The vale lies placid in its light
As it hath ever been!
Gone—like an April-gleam
When storms are gathering fast!
It is like waking from a dream!
That wondrous change hath past.
And the daily toils went on,
As if they ne'er had ceased,
And the organ with its stately tone
Gave answer to the priest.
When storms are gathering fast!
It is like waking from a dream!
That wondrous change hath past.
And the daily toils went on,
As if they ne'er had ceased,
And the organ with its stately tone
Gave answer to the priest.
Who first did from him cast
The weapon that he wore?
'Twas he whom man would name the last—
It was De Sericour!
His lofty head is bow'd
'Neath a heavier weight than years,
The eye that was so brightly proud
Is quench'd in sudden tears!
The weapon that he wore?
'Twas he whom man would name the last—
It was De Sericour!
His lofty head is bow'd
'Neath a heavier weight than years,
The eye that was so brightly proud
Is quench'd in sudden tears!
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And penitence resumes
Her intermitted sway,
And swift forgetfulness entombs
The deeds of that bright day.
Ah, no! The thought can be
From the deep heart banish'd never;
'Twas the captive's glimpse of liberty,
Seen once and lost for ever!
Her intermitted sway,
And swift forgetfulness entombs
The deeds of that bright day.
Ah, no! The thought can be
From the deep heart banish'd never;
'Twas the captive's glimpse of liberty,
Seen once and lost for ever!
Scorn we a heart like his,
At God's own footstool laid?
Forget not that of stuff like this
Martyrs and saints were made!
But our words are bold and free,
We judge, decide, condemn—
Ah, God forgive us!—what are we
That we should sentence them?
At God's own footstool laid?
Forget not that of stuff like this
Martyrs and saints were made!
But our words are bold and free,
We judge, decide, condemn—
Ah, God forgive us!—what are we
That we should sentence them?
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The Vow of Cortes.
Word was brought where Cortes lay
On the shores of Coronzel,
That, pent from the blessed light of day
And the free breath of generous air,
A band of Christians captive were
In the hands of the Indians fell.
On the shores of Coronzel,
That, pent from the blessed light of day
And the free breath of generous air,
A band of Christians captive were
In the hands of the Indians fell.
Up rose in wrath that leader brave,
And sware by holy cross,
Never to rest by land or wave
Till he had loosed each captive's chain;
So did his gallant heart disdain
Death, danger, woe, or loss.
And sware by holy cross,
Never to rest by land or wave
Till he had loosed each captive's chain;
So did his gallant heart disdain
Death, danger, woe, or loss.
Eight weary days and nights he stayed
On the shores of Coronzel;
Far and wide his messengers strayed,
Oft they went and oft return'd,
But nought of that sad band they learn'd
In the hands of the Indians fell.
On the shores of Coronzel;
Far and wide his messengers strayed,
Oft they went and oft return'd,
But nought of that sad band they learn'd
In the hands of the Indians fell.
And all this while the wind was foul,
The sky was stern and dark,
Dark as a despot's threatening scowl!
But on the ninth bright morning, lo,
The wind blows fair for Mexico,
Wooing each idle bark.
The sky was stern and dark,
Dark as a despot's threatening scowl!
But on the ninth bright morning, lo,
The wind blows fair for Mexico,
Wooing each idle bark.
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The skies are lucid, clear, and smooth,
As a sleeping infant's cheek,
The breeze is like the voice of youth,
The sea is like a maiden's smile,
Sparkling and gay, yet shy the while,
On lips afraid to speak.
As a sleeping infant's cheek,
The breeze is like the voice of youth,
The sea is like a maiden's smile,
Sparkling and gay, yet shy the while,
On lips afraid to speak.
Sighing o'er dreams of fame withheld,
Stood Cortes on the shore,
His fiery heart within him swelled
When he saw his good ships slothfully
Cradled on that rocking sea,—
“Unmoor!” he cried, “unmoor!
Stood Cortes on the shore,
His fiery heart within him swelled
When he saw his good ships slothfully
Cradled on that rocking sea,—
“Unmoor!” he cried, “unmoor!
A weary time have we tarried now,
But the fruitless search is o'er”
(Ah, couldst thou thus forget thy vow?)—
“'Twere sin to lose this favouring breeze,
'Twere shame to scorn these courteous seas,
Unmoor, my men, unmoor!”
But the fruitless search is o'er”
(Ah, couldst thou thus forget thy vow?)—
“'Twere sin to lose this favouring breeze,
'Twere shame to scorn these courteous seas,
Unmoor, my men, unmoor!”
Merrily rustled each flapping sail
Unfurling as it met
The cool caress of the buoyant gale;
And merrily shouted the seamen brave
As their light barks crested each dancing wave,
And the vow they all forget!
Unfurling as it met
The cool caress of the buoyant gale;
And merrily shouted the seamen brave
As their light barks crested each dancing wave,
And the vow they all forget!
But scarce a league did that gay band sail
When the sky was overcast,
And the good ships reel'd in the clashing hail;
“Courage, my hearts!” quoth Cortes then,
“It shall never be said that Spanish men
Were scared by an adverse blast!”
When the sky was overcast,
And the good ships reel'd in the clashing hail;
“Courage, my hearts!” quoth Cortes then,
“It shall never be said that Spanish men
Were scared by an adverse blast!”
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The heavens grew blacker as he spake,
And their course they could not keep
Save for the flashes blue that brake
Like serpents of fire from the sable sky,
While they hear the shrill wind's startled cry,
And the roar of the stormy deep.
And their course they could not keep
Save for the flashes blue that brake
Like serpents of fire from the sable sky,
While they hear the shrill wind's startled cry,
And the roar of the stormy deep.
But the leader's voice through wind and wave
Rose calm, and clear, and bold;
“Hurrah, my mates! the storm we brave!
Stand to your posts like men!” But hark!
A cry of terror shakes the bark,
“There's water in the hold!”
Rose calm, and clear, and bold;
“Hurrah, my mates! the storm we brave!
Stand to your posts like men!” But hark!
A cry of terror shakes the bark,
“There's water in the hold!”
And to and fro on the slippery deck,
And up and down the stair,
Came faces full of woe and wreck,
With staring eye and whitened lip,
Hurrying about the fated ship
In purposeless despair!
And up and down the stair,
Came faces full of woe and wreck,
With staring eye and whitened lip,
Hurrying about the fated ship
In purposeless despair!
“Put back, put back, to Coronzel!”
Cried the chief in sudden awe,
“Put back, put back,—we did not well!”
For his mighty heart was humbled now,
And he bethought him of his vow,
And the hand of God he saw.
Cried the chief in sudden awe,
“Put back, put back,—we did not well!”
For his mighty heart was humbled now,
And he bethought him of his vow,
And the hand of God he saw.
Then labouring in that dreadful sea,
Through many an hour of fear,
The groaning bark moved doubtfully—
Oh, weary men, but glad they were
When they felt the land-breeze stir their hair,
And they saw the coast appear!
Through many an hour of fear,
The groaning bark moved doubtfully—
Oh, weary men, but glad they were
When they felt the land-breeze stir their hair,
And they saw the coast appear!
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Bold Cortes stood upon the shore
When morning glimmer'd bright;
The frenzy of the storm was o'er,
And he saw the calm blue waters lie
Under a cloudless canopy,
Curling in waves of light.
When morning glimmer'd bright;
The frenzy of the storm was o'er,
And he saw the calm blue waters lie
Under a cloudless canopy,
Curling in waves of light.
A boat, a boat from Yucatan!
It sprang before the wind;
And thence there stepp'd a white-hair'd man!
But not from age that hue of snow;
He walk'd with wavering steps and slow,
Like one whose eyes were blind.
It sprang before the wind;
And thence there stepp'd a white-hair'd man!
But not from age that hue of snow;
He walk'd with wavering steps and slow,
Like one whose eyes were blind.
Eager around his path they crowd,
In wild but earnest glee;
They clasp his hand, they shout aloud;
For this was one of that sad throng,
Pining 'mid pitiless Indians long,
And now at last set free.
In wild but earnest glee;
They clasp his hand, they shout aloud;
For this was one of that sad throng,
Pining 'mid pitiless Indians long,
And now at last set free.
But a wondering, troubled countenance
That white-hair'd stranger's seems,
Like a young child's uncertain glance
When reason dawns upon its heart,
Not understood as yet, but part
Of vague departing dreams.
That white-hair'd stranger's seems,
Like a young child's uncertain glance
When reason dawns upon its heart,
Not understood as yet, but part
Of vague departing dreams.
“Come I to Christian men?” he said,
In eager tones but weak;
“Eight years have blanch'd this weary head,
And all the time I have not heard
The sound of one familiar word!
If ye be Christians, speak!
In eager tones but weak;
“Eight years have blanch'd this weary head,
And all the time I have not heard
The sound of one familiar word!
If ye be Christians, speak!
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My brethren were around me slain,
And I was spared alone;
But I have suffer'd want and pain,
A captive's grief, an exile's woe;
What marvel that this early snow
Upon my head is strown?
And I was spared alone;
But I have suffer'd want and pain,
A captive's grief, an exile's woe;
What marvel that this early snow
Upon my head is strown?
A humble priest of God am I,
And I have kept my vow;
I saw, in speechless agony,
All that I loved on earth depart,
And pray'd but for a stainless heart:
Thank God, I have it now!”
And I have kept my vow;
I saw, in speechless agony,
All that I loved on earth depart,
And pray'd but for a stainless heart:
Thank God, I have it now!”
Around that holy man they stood,
A hush'd and reverent band;
They wept, those soldiers stern and rude,
As long-unwonted words he spake,
And blest them all for Jesus' sake,
Lifting his wasted hand.
A hush'd and reverent band;
They wept, those soldiers stern and rude,
As long-unwonted words he spake,
And blest them all for Jesus' sake,
Lifting his wasted hand.
Strangely and long did Cortes gaze
Upon that stranger's face;
They had been friends in earlier days,
And now his lips half doubting frame
The sounds of a forgotten name,—
Behold how they embrace!
Upon that stranger's face;
They had been friends in earlier days,
And now his lips half doubting frame
The sounds of a forgotten name,—
Behold how they embrace!
And Cortes seems a boy again,
Life's guilty paths unknown;
For many a change and many a stain
Have fallen upon him since they met;
Much hath his hand with blood been wet,
And hard his heart hath grown.
Life's guilty paths unknown;
For many a change and many a stain
Have fallen upon him since they met;
Much hath his hand with blood been wet,
And hard his heart hath grown.
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All laden with the sins of years,
He kneels upon the sod;
He kneels and weeps! oh, precious tears!
The good man bends beside him there;
And well we know a righteous prayer
Availeth much with God!
He kneels upon the sod;
He kneels and weeps! oh, precious tears!
The good man bends beside him there;
And well we know a righteous prayer
Availeth much with God!
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The Enemies.
[_]
[The story on which the following ballad is founded is related in Mrs. Jameson's “Lives of Female Sovereigns.”]
I. PART I.
Oh, fair was Countess Isadoure,
The Ladye of Leòn,
And she unto her highest tower,
With all her maids, is gone;
A veil of lace, in modest grace,
Was wrapt her brow around;
Her vesture fair of satin rare
Swept on the stony ground.
The Ladye of Leòn,
And she unto her highest tower,
With all her maids, is gone;
A veil of lace, in modest grace,
Was wrapt her brow around;
Her vesture fair of satin rare
Swept on the stony ground.
She spake unto her wardour good:
“Now, wardour, tell thou me
How many years thou here hast stood
To watch the far countree.”
The wardour stout, he straight spake out:
“Sweet ladye, there have been,
Since first I clombe this lofty dome,
Methinks full years fifteen.
“Now, wardour, tell thou me
How many years thou here hast stood
To watch the far countree.”
The wardour stout, he straight spake out:
“Sweet ladye, there have been,
Since first I clombe this lofty dome,
Methinks full years fifteen.
And every night, and every morn,
Noontide and eve the same,
I still was wont to wind my horn,
For still a stranger came;
Now, twice three days are fully past,
I gazed both far and wide,
Nor have I wound a single blast,
Nor have I aught espyed.”
Noontide and eve the same,
I still was wont to wind my horn,
For still a stranger came;
Now, twice three days are fully past,
I gazed both far and wide,
Nor have I wound a single blast,
Nor have I aught espyed.”
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The ladye dried her pearly tears,
That flowed like summer rain:
“Ah, wardour, spare a woman's fears,
Go up yet once again!
Perchance thine eye my lord may spy
Far in the distant west,
For yestereen he should have been
Enfolded to this breast.”
That flowed like summer rain:
“Ah, wardour, spare a woman's fears,
Go up yet once again!
Perchance thine eye my lord may spy
Far in the distant west,
For yestereen he should have been
Enfolded to this breast.”
The wardour clombe the weary stair,
And long and closely gazed;
At last his glad shout rent the air,—
“Hurrah! Saint James be praised!
I see a knight—the glimmering light
Just glances from his shield;
His pace is slow, his plume droops low—
He comes from a foughten field.”
And long and closely gazed;
At last his glad shout rent the air,—
“Hurrah! Saint James be praised!
I see a knight—the glimmering light
Just glances from his shield;
His pace is slow, his plume droops low—
He comes from a foughten field.”
Then joyful was that ladye bright
With measureless content,
And forth to meet the coming knight
In eager haste she went.
“Now, maidens mine, bring food and wine,
And spread the festal board;
Soft music bring, rich incense fling,
To welcome back my lord.”
With measureless content,
And forth to meet the coming knight
In eager haste she went.
“Now, maidens mine, bring food and wine,
And spread the festal board;
Soft music bring, rich incense fling,
To welcome back my lord.”
She placed her on a palfrey good,
As well beseemed her state,
And forth she rode in mirthful mood
Down to the castle-gate:
“Now, maidens, stay your pace, I pray,
And let us gladly wait
Till yonder knight shall here alight
By his own castle-gate.”
As well beseemed her state,
And forth she rode in mirthful mood
Down to the castle-gate:
“Now, maidens, stay your pace, I pray,
And let us gladly wait
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By his own castle-gate.”
They had not stayed an hour's brief space
Beneath that sinking sun,
When, lo, with stern and darkened face
That stranger knight came on;
The ladye saw his brow of awe,
And mark'd his greeting word,
Then veil'd her eyes in wild surprise,
And shriek'd, “'Tis not my lord!”
Beneath that sinking sun,
When, lo, with stern and darkened face
That stranger knight came on;
The ladye saw his brow of awe,
And mark'd his greeting word,
Then veil'd her eyes in wild surprise,
And shriek'd, “'Tis not my lord!”
His mien was sad, his crest defaced,
His mail besprent with gore,
He lighted off his steed in haste,
Hard by the castle-door;
He flung aside his helm of pride,
He bent his forehead low,
And scarcely knew that war's red dew
Fell trickling from his brow.
His mail besprent with gore,
He lighted off his steed in haste,
Hard by the castle-door;
He flung aside his helm of pride,
He bent his forehead low,
And scarcely knew that war's red dew
Fell trickling from his brow.
“Ah, ladye,” (thus the stranger said,)
“Ill tidings must I tell;
Your lord will surely lose his head
Before the matin bell.
His gallant host are slain and lost,
His friends are all dispersed;
The cruel Moor is at his door:
Yet is not this the worst!
“Ill tidings must I tell;
Your lord will surely lose his head
Before the matin bell.
His gallant host are slain and lost,
His friends are all dispersed;
The cruel Moor is at his door:
Yet is not this the worst!
Pent in Alhama's fort he lies,
Bereft of every hope;
In vain his utmost strength he tries
With triple force to cope;
The Moor hath sworn, ere break of morn
The fortress shall be won,
And he will hang in ruthless scorn
Its valiant garrison.
Bereft of every hope;
In vain his utmost strength he tries
With triple force to cope;
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The fortress shall be won,
And he will hang in ruthless scorn
Its valiant garrison.
Your lord commends him to your love,
And prays, in piteous kind,
That ere the morrow shine above,
Some succour thou mayst find.
He bade me tell, that, if he fell,
His heart's last hope should be—”
No further word that ladye heard,—
Down in a swoon sank she!
And prays, in piteous kind,
That ere the morrow shine above,
Some succour thou mayst find.
He bade me tell, that, if he fell,
His heart's last hope should be—”
No further word that ladye heard,—
Down in a swoon sank she!
Then loud her maidens wail and weep,
And mourn so sad an hour,
They lift her up in deathful sleep,
They bear her to her bower;
And loyal grief for their good chief
Spreads far on every part,
Through all Leòn there is not one
But bears a heavy heart.
And mourn so sad an hour,
They lift her up in deathful sleep,
They bear her to her bower;
And loyal grief for their good chief
Spreads far on every part,
Through all Leòn there is not one
But bears a heavy heart.
II. PART II.
In proud Medina's castle fair
The rosy wine flows bright,
For proud Medina's valiant heir
Brings home his bride to-night.
Mirth smiles on every lip, and shines
In every gleaming eye,
And the sound of merry laughter joins
With lutes and minstrelsy.
The rosy wine flows bright,
For proud Medina's valiant heir
Brings home his bride to-night.
Mirth smiles on every lip, and shines
In every gleaming eye,
And the sound of merry laughter joins
With lutes and minstrelsy.
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Full many a knight of high degree
Sate at Medina's board,
But the morning-star of chivalry
Was he, their stately lord.
The haughtiest monarchs bowed them down
In reverence of his fame,
And the trumpet-tones of loud renown
Were weary of his name.
Sate at Medina's board,
But the morning-star of chivalry
Was he, their stately lord.
The haughtiest monarchs bowed them down
In reverence of his fame,
And the trumpet-tones of loud renown
Were weary of his name.
The health passed joyously about
That table fair and wide,
And every guest with eager shout
Gave honour to the bride.
The old hall rang to their joyous peal;—
And, lo, on its sides so high,
The clattering sound of the shaken steel
Gave faint but fierce reply!
That table fair and wide,
And every guest with eager shout
Gave honour to the bride.
The old hall rang to their joyous peal;—
And, lo, on its sides so high,
The clattering sound of the shaken steel
Gave faint but fierce reply!
Was that the sound of lance or sword
'Gainst the mailèd hauberk ringing,
Which circles above the festive board,
And the lordly banners swinging?
Lo, every lip forsakes the cup!
Lo, every knight starts breathless up!
For wheeling around
That ancient hall,
Came the faint, faint sound
Of a trumpet-call,—
Sinking and swelling, slow and soft,
And lost in the night-wind's whistle oft.
'Gainst the mailèd hauberk ringing,
Which circles above the festive board,
And the lordly banners swinging?
Lo, every lip forsakes the cup!
Lo, every knight starts breathless up!
For wheeling around
That ancient hall,
Came the faint, faint sound
Of a trumpet-call,—
Sinking and swelling, slow and soft,
And lost in the night-wind's whistle oft.
It ceased, that low and fitful sound,
It died on the evening gale,
And the knights they all gazed grimly round,
And the ladies all wax'd pale;
The baron bold was first to break
The silence of his hall:
“What may this bode?”—'twas thus he spake—
“Now rede me, warriors all!”
It died on the evening gale,
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And the ladies all wax'd pale;
The baron bold was first to break
The silence of his hall:
“What may this bode?”—'twas thus he spake—
“Now rede me, warriors all!”
Then up spake Guzman of Mindore—
A holy monk was he—
“'Tis the sound,” quoth he, “of the coming Moor;
Oh, let us turn and flee!”
Him answer'd straight Sir Leoline,
A true and stalwart knight,
“'Tis the sound of the coming Moor, I ween;
Let us go forth and fight.”
A holy monk was he—
“'Tis the sound,” quoth he, “of the coming Moor;
Oh, let us turn and flee!”
Him answer'd straight Sir Leoline,
A true and stalwart knight,
“'Tis the sound of the coming Moor, I ween;
Let us go forth and fight.”
Then every gauntlet sought its sword
With a quick and friendly greeting,
And a clash arose at the festive board,
But not of goblets meeting.
Up sprang each knight; like a beam of light
Forth flash'd each trenchant blade,
And the backward start of the quivering sheath
A stirring answer made—
When, lo, on the breeze again was borne
The murmuring note of that distant horn!
With a quick and friendly greeting,
And a clash arose at the festive board,
But not of goblets meeting.
Up sprang each knight; like a beam of light
Forth flash'd each trenchant blade,
And the backward start of the quivering sheath
A stirring answer made—
When, lo, on the breeze again was borne
The murmuring note of that distant horn!
And see, where up the hall proceeds
A sad yet stately group;
A ladye, clad in mourning weeds,
Is foremost of the troop.
Her tearful eyes betray her grief,
Her mien shews her degree;
And forward to the wondering chief
She steps right gracefully.
A sad yet stately group;
A ladye, clad in mourning weeds,
Is foremost of the troop.
Her tearful eyes betray her grief,
Her mien shews her degree;
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She steps right gracefully.
She wrung her hands, and down she kneeled,
So sorrowful, so fair,
That heart must have been triply steeled
That could resist her prayer.
Scarce have her trembling lips the power
Their suppliant words to frame,
She sinks upon the marble floor,
Murmuring her husband's name!
So sorrowful, so fair,
That heart must have been triply steeled
That could resist her prayer.
Scarce have her trembling lips the power
Their suppliant words to frame,
She sinks upon the marble floor,
Murmuring her husband's name!
Her husband's name!—unwelcome sound
In proud Medina's ears:
A wrathful whisper circles round
The band of knights and peers;
From lip to lip is past the word,
In tones of fierce rebuke,
“Is it the wife of Cadiz' lord
Who seeks Medina's duke?”
In proud Medina's ears:
A wrathful whisper circles round
The band of knights and peers;
From lip to lip is past the word,
In tones of fierce rebuke,
“Is it the wife of Cadiz' lord
Who seeks Medina's duke?”
Alas, that deadly feud should be
Between two hearts so brave and free!
Alas, that long ancestral hate
Such kindred souls should separate!
Between two hearts so brave and free!
Alas, that long ancestral hate
Such kindred souls should separate!
Up rose that lady at the word,
And spake with queenly brow:
“It is the wife of Cadiz' lord
Who seeks Medina now!
I come to tell my husband's plight,—
A captive doomed is he;
And I charge thee as a Christian knight
Go forth and set him free!
And spake with queenly brow:
“It is the wife of Cadiz' lord
Who seeks Medina now!
I come to tell my husband's plight,—
A captive doomed is he;
And I charge thee as a Christian knight
Go forth and set him free!
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Pent in Alhama's fort he lies,
Bereft of every hope;
In vain his utmost strength he tries
With triple force to cope;
The Moor hath sworn ere break of morn
The fortress shall be won,
And he will hang in ruthless scorn
Its valiant garrison.
Bereft of every hope;
In vain his utmost strength he tries
With triple force to cope;
The Moor hath sworn ere break of morn
The fortress shall be won,
And he will hang in ruthless scorn
Its valiant garrison.
Then canst thou, wilt thou, not forget
The stormy words when last ye met?”
“Say rather, will I not contemn
The heart that could remember them?
Fear nothing, gentle ladye,—I
Am slave to love and chivalry.
Let each who keeps his honour bright
And holds his conscience free,
Let each who boasts the name of knight,
Forward and follow me!”
He spake, and shook his flashing sword,
Then darted from the festal board.
The stormy words when last ye met?”
“Say rather, will I not contemn
The heart that could remember them?
Fear nothing, gentle ladye,—I
Am slave to love and chivalry.
Let each who keeps his honour bright
And holds his conscience free,
Let each who boasts the name of knight,
Forward and follow me!”
He spake, and shook his flashing sword,
Then darted from the festal board.
Him follow'd Guzman of Mindore
With words of counsel wise:
“Oh, cross not thou thy castle-door
On such a mad emprise!
Recall, recall thy hasty word,
Nor set false Cadiz free!”
But out then spake that generous lord,
“He is mine enemy!”
With words of counsel wise:
“Oh, cross not thou thy castle-door
On such a mad emprise!
Recall, recall thy hasty word,
Nor set false Cadiz free!”
But out then spake that generous lord,
“He is mine enemy!”
And never another word spake he,
But on his steed he sprang;
And forth he rode right joyously,
As though for his wedding revelry
The merry church-bells rang:
O glorious time, and noble race,
Where hate to honour thus gave place!
But on his steed he sprang;
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As though for his wedding revelry
The merry church-bells rang:
O glorious time, and noble race,
Where hate to honour thus gave place!
Behind him then his vassals crowd
In legions bold and bright,
The prancing of their coursers proud,
It was a stately sight;
And the music of their eager swords,
In martial fury clashing,
Was like the ocean-waves' wild hordes
Over the dark rocks dashing.
In legions bold and bright,
The prancing of their coursers proud,
It was a stately sight;
And the music of their eager swords,
In martial fury clashing,
Was like the ocean-waves' wild hordes
Over the dark rocks dashing.
Like the torrent plunging from the rock,
Or the lightning from the skies,
So rolled the thunder of their shock
Against their enemies!
How should a mortal foe resist
The charge of such a band?
They scatter'd like an April mist
Cleft by the sun-god's hand!
Or the lightning from the skies,
So rolled the thunder of their shock
Against their enemies!
How should a mortal foe resist
The charge of such a band?
They scatter'd like an April mist
Cleft by the sun-god's hand!
Brief was the battle! Fast and fierce,
Ere its first moment parts,
A thousand Christian falchions pierce
A thousand Moslem hearts!
The gates are gained, the walls are cleared,
The citadel is won,
That work of victory appeared
To end ere it begun.
Ere its first moment parts,
A thousand Christian falchions pierce
A thousand Moslem hearts!
The gates are gained, the walls are cleared,
The citadel is won,
That work of victory appeared
To end ere it begun.
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Oh, brightly on Alhama's fort
The morning sun was beaming,
Where many a chief of lordly port
Stood in his blue mail gleaming;
Fair is the scene its towers disclose
In their high banquet-hall;
But the first embrace of those two foes
Was a fairer sight than all!
The morning sun was beaming,
Where many a chief of lordly port
Stood in his blue mail gleaming;
Fair is the scene its towers disclose
In their high banquet-hall;
But the first embrace of those two foes
Was a fairer sight than all!
Oh, fast through all the Spanish land
That victory was told,
Right gladsome was King Ferdinand,
Right gay his warriors bold;
From lip to lip the bright tale darts,
All laud the high emprise;
But the union of those generous hearts
Was dear in God's own eyes!
That victory was told,
Right gladsome was King Ferdinand,
Right gay his warriors bold;
From lip to lip the bright tale darts,
All laud the high emprise;
But the union of those generous hearts
Was dear in God's own eyes!
| Lays and Ballads from Ancient History | |