The Reliquary By Bernard and Lucy Barton. With A Prefatory Appeal for Poetry and Poets |
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A BALLAD.
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 | The Reliquary |  |
A BALLAD.
[Sir Eustace sate at midnight's hour]
Sir Eustace sate at midnight's hour
Within his tent alone
And the spell of memory's silent power
Was o'er his spirit thrown:
It bore him from Salem's leaguered wall
To her he had left in his castle-hall.
Within his tent alone
And the spell of memory's silent power
Was o'er his spirit thrown:
It bore him from Salem's leaguered wall
To her he had left in his castle-hall.
For Ermengarde his only child
The beautiful and young,
Had often at that hour beguil'd
His spirit as she sung,
Bidding her father's heart rejoice
With the magic sound of her silver voice.
The beautiful and young,
Had often at that hour beguil'd
His spirit as she sung,
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With the magic sound of her silver voice.
And on his harp he used to play
To her in that old hall,
He had brought his harp with him away
But now 'twas silent all;
It hung in his tent by the cresset's light,
And his eyes as he viewed it with tears were bright.
To her in that old hall,
He had brought his harp with him away
But now 'twas silent all;
It hung in his tent by the cresset's light,
And his eyes as he viewed it with tears were bright.
That cresset's light grew pale and dim,
On his ear a sound there stole,
The echo of a dirge-like hymn
Pour'd for a parted soul:
And the strings of that harp, which in silence slept,
As if by a spirit's hand, were swept.
On his ear a sound there stole,
The echo of a dirge-like hymn
Pour'd for a parted soul:
And the strings of that harp, which in silence slept,
As if by a spirit's hand, were swept.
He shed no tear, he heav'd no sigh,
And not a word he said,
He knew from that mystic melody,
Her soul from earth was fled:
So he threw by his lance, and sword, and shield,
And at break of day left the tented field.
And not a word he said,
He knew from that mystic melody,
Her soul from earth was fled:
So he threw by his lance, and sword, and shield,
And at break of day left the tented field.
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He reach'd once more his castle hall,
He enter'd the chapel fair,
A marble tablet hung on its wall
And a wither'd rose was there:
He knelt him down, and in silence prayed,
And died a monk in the cloister's shade.
He enter'd the chapel fair,
A marble tablet hung on its wall
And a wither'd rose was there:
He knelt him down, and in silence prayed,
And died a monk in the cloister's shade.
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