PR 5453 \.$23L3\ i 1 m \ * V s V *> , y *r • c \ B b io 3 W 1 - THE SEVEN DEAR CHILDREN FOR WHOSE AMUSEMENT THESE VERSES WERE ORIGINALLY WRITTEN THEY ARE NOW MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. rami (fficoroe for £atxx t vf-nnlaua. ~r Reign of William the Conqueror, 1066-1087, drf)f Conquest of OFnglanD. PART I. Duke William stood on the Norman shore, With all his merry men round ; And he will sail the blue seas o'er, y *2J ^p | an d on English ground. LAYS AND BALLADS. Saint Edward made him, ere lie died, Heir to the English throne ; But Saxon Harold, in his pride, I I.ith seized it for his own. So the duke hath summon'd hia va*srls brave From castle, cot, and tower ; And he will cross the rushing wave To reckon witli Harold's power. They came, his liegemen stout and true, With the serfs whom they commanded ; Some brought many, and some brought few, But none came empty-handed. By the trumpet-sound they gather around, And their banners stream on high, And their spears shine bright as the stars of night In a clear and frosty sky. Whence comes yon graceful bark which glides To the spot where the duke is standing, And leaps the crests of the dancing tides With an air of proud commanding ? The sails are of silk, and flutteriugly They wave in the breezes mild ! At the prow is a sculptured effigy Of a fair and smiling child. But who is the lady of lofty brow, Bright eye, and arching lip, Who waveth her white haud from the prow Of the gay and stately ship 1 She is known from afar by her queenly air, And the circlet on her brows ; THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. ; Tis the Duchess Matilda, wise and fair, Duke William's honoured spouse. To land full lightly vaulted she, And up to the duke she came — u My lord, accept this ship from me; The Mora is its name. Its chambers are deck'd for a monarch fit, With cushions of velvet piled ; The form at the prow — look well on it — 'Tis the form of our youngest child. My hand it was that 'broider'd the sail, Though the tear was in mine eye — God send my lord a favouring gale, And a joyous victory !" " Thanks, lady, thanks," the duke replied, " Right princely is thy gift; Soon leaping from its painted side, My good sword will I lift. When its gay pennon streameth far, My heart shall look to thee, As the pilot's eye to the northern star, Guiding us o'er the sea. Farewell, my lady and my wife, So loyal, fair, and true ; If I come back to thee with life, I will come with honour too." " Farewell, my hero— knighthood's flower — My husband and my lord !" Right tender was that parting hour, Right fond each parting word. B 4 LAYS AND BALLADS. The lady's tears, e'en while she spake, Did fast and freely start ; And many a sigh did slowly break From Duke William's mighty heart. " Adieu!" he cried: in speechless grief Matilda sought her bower ; And to his good ship sprang the chief, With all his armed power. Away with a breeze that curls the seas And scatters the foam as a cloud, Each liglit bark rides on the bounding tides, Like a knight on a courser proud. TheysaiFd all the night; but when morning shone bright, And the duke he gazed around, Not a sail could be traced on the ocean's wide waste, Not a bark could there be found. " How may this be," quoth the duke at last, " That we are thus left alone ? My wife's fair ship, thou travellest fast ; Of our comrades see T none. Go up to the mast-head speedily, My squire. What meets thine eye ?" 16 Nought save the grey far-stretching sea, And the cloudy morning sky." " Now, by my faith," said Duke William then, u 111 shall we fare I trow, If I am met without my men By the angry English now. Go up again— what seestthou now, My squire so brave and true ?" THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. t " Where the blue sea-line with the sky doth join A darksome speck I view. " " A babe may grow to a monarch free, To a storm a little cloud ; God send that tiny speck may be My gallant fleet and proud ! Go up once more— -gaze o'er the sea : Good squire, what seest thou there ?" " Hurra !" cried he, " 'tis a forest I see Of tall masts rising fair. They are coming, they are coming, as come the clouds When the storm gathers fast on high ; When noiseless and light, and too swift for sight, They cover the wide blue sky." The sea grew white with a thousand sails On its distant billows riding, Spreading their wings to the wanton gales, Like the birds around them gliding. The fresh breeze fann'd the Conqueror's cheek, And the Conqueror's heart beat high — " Our arms are strong, and our foes are weak, We are sailing to victory." PART II. The morn was bright, the sky was blue, And each Norman heart was gay, When swift as a bird the Mora flew Into fair Hastings bay. LAYS AND BALLADS. Full soon Duke William sprang to land With a proud and knightly grace; But be miss'd his step on the treach'rous sand,- He fell upon his face ! Now foul befall thee, treach'rous shore, Thou hast laid a good knight low ; A knight who hath never fallen before By the stroke of any foe. Ill be thy name, thou faithless sand : Of foes we may all beware ; But how can the brave heart understand That which is false and fair? Pale grew the cheeks of the Normans then, — " An omen \" they loudly cry : " Let us go o'er the main to our homes again ; We will not stay here to die." But up leap'd the joyous duke from earth, And shook his fair plume on high ; Untamed was his laugh in its ringing mirth, Unquench'd was his proud bright eye. His grasp it was full of the yellow sea-sand, And he shouted, " My men, what ho ! See, I have England in my hand — Do ye think I will let it go ?" Loudly then answer'd his warriors bold : "True be thy daring word ! We will follow thee till our hearts wax cold- God save our conquering lord V* They built on the shore a fort of wood, They framed it cunningly ; THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND, Its beams so strong, and its walls so good, They had brought with them o ? er the sea. But they were not aware that a knight stood there, And watch'd them whiles they wrought ; Behind an oak-tree unseen stood he, And gazed on the growing fort. Then with eager speed he mounted his steed, And away to Earl Harold he hied : " Evil, great king, are the news I bring — Duke William hath crossed the tide. Duke William of Normandy, mighty and strong, He hath landed at Pevensie ; And with him a fierce and a terrible throng Of the knights of his own countrie. They have built them a fort upon Hastings beach, The like was never known ; No time is there now for dallying speech, Arm, arm thee for thy throne !" " I laugh at thy news," Lord Harold he cried 5 " For in annal and in song Shall be told, how we taught this man of pride His weakness and his wrong. Arm, my brave Saxons, mount and arm—' Ye know that our cause is just ; Ere a night and a day hath glided away Our foes shall bite the dust V 1 The armies are marching — the two great hosts— Behold, they are sweeping past ; The sound of their step on the echoing coasts Was like a rushing blast. B J, 8 LAYS AND BALLADS. They met wlien the western sun grew pale, At twilight's peaceful hour ; When eve was spreading her soft grey veil O'er hill, and field, and tower. Sternly they gazed on each bright array, By the moonbeams rising slow ; Like men who felt that by break of day They should stand as foe to foe. How did the Saxons pass that night? In wassail and revelry ; Reckless they drank till the pure moon sank, And the sun rose from the sea. How did the Normans pass that night? In fasting and in prayer; They kncel'd on the sod, and they cried to their God, And their solemn hymns fill'd the air. " Mine arms, mine arms !" Duke William cried, When he saw the first glimpse of dawn ; " Each moment is lost till my steed I bestride — Sound ye the battle-horn." He buckled his cuirass blue and sheen, And he brandish'd his sword so bright ; In helmet and plume was there never seen A fairer or statelier knight. Proudly he strode from his milk-white tent, And high on his steed did spring ; Each man that saw hirn as he went Said, " Yonder rides a king !" The battle was long, the battle was fierce, — It is an awful sight THE CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. 9 When keen swords strike, and when swift darts pierce, From morn till dewy night. Full many a gallant knight was slain, And many a joyous steed; And blood w T as pour'd like summer rain, Or the last eve's flowing mead. The Saxons turned, the Saxons fled — How could they choose but yield, When they saw Earl Harold lying dead Beside his useless shield ? Now is Duke William England's king, That great and mighty chief; The Normans are blithe as the merry spring, But mute is the Saxons' grief. Good news, good news to Normandie, Where the fair Matilda mourns ; 'Twas a duke who left her to cross the sea, But 'tis a king returns. They rear'd an abbey where Harold fell, A stately pile and fair ; Through its still, grey walls the solemn bell Oft sumraon'd to praise and prayer. It is standing yet— a monument Whose old and crumbling wall To the gazer's eye is eloquent Of Harold's lame and fall. 10 LAYS AND RALLADS. lleign of William Rufus, 108M100. There moves a sad procession Across the silent rale, With backward-glancing eyes of grief, And tearful cheeks all pale. Scattered and slow, without array, With wavering feet they go, Yet with a kind of solemn pace — The measured tread of woe. There women pause and tremble, And weep with breaking heart ; While men, with deeply knitted brows, Stride mutely on apart. There infants cling upon the breast. Their own accustom'd place ; And children gaze up askingly Into each darkened face. For the king has sent his soldiers, Who strike and pity not : They have razed to the earth each smiling home, They have burn'd each lowly cot. It was the ruthless Conqueror By whom this deed was done ; And yet more fierce and hard of heart Was Rufus his stern son. THE NEW FOREST. 11 So they leave each humble cottage, Where they so long have dwelt, Where morn and eve to simple prayer, With thankful hearts, they knelt — Places all brighten'd with the joy Of sweet domestic years, And spots made holy by the flow Of unforgotten tears. And the gardens are uprooted, And the walls cast down around ; It is all a spacious wilderness — The king's great hunting-ground ! While hopeless, homeless, shelterless, Those exiles wander on ; And most of them lie down to die, Ere many days are gone. Forest ! green New Forest ! Home of the bird and breeze, With all thy soft and sweeping glades, And long dim aisles of trees ; Like some ancestral palace, Thou standest proud and fair, Yet is each tree a monument To Death and lone Despair ! And thou, relentless tyrant, Ride forth and chase the deer, With a heart that never melted yet To pity or to fear. But for all these broken spirits, And for all these wasted homes, Gocl will avenge the fatherless — The day of reckoning comes ! 12 LAYS AND BALLADS. To hunt rode fierce King Rufus, Upon a holy morn — The Church had summon'd him to pray, But lie held the Church in scorn. Sir Walter Tyrrel rode with him, And drew his good bow-string ; He drew the string to smite a deer, But his arrow smote the king ! Hurl'd from his trembling charger, The death-struck monarch lay ; While fast, as flees the startled deer, Rash Tyrrel fled away : On the spot where his strong hand had made So many desolate, He died with none to pity him — Such was the tyrant's fate ! None mourn'd for cruel Rums : With pomp they buried him ; But no heart grieved beside his bier — No kindly eye grew dim ; But poor men lifted up their heads, And clasp'd their hands, and said, " Thank God, the ruthless Conqueror And his stern son are dead V 9 Remember, oh, remember, You who shudder at my lay, These cruel men were children once, As you are now were they : They sported round a mother's seat, They pray'cl beside her knee ; She gazed into their cloudless eyes, And ask'd, « What will they be V* THE NEW FOREST. 13 Alas ! unhappy mothers, If ye could then have known How crime would make each soft young heart As cold and hard as stone, Ye would have wish'd them in their graves Ere life had pass'd its spring. Ah, friends, keep watch upon your hearts — Sin is a fearful thing. 14 LAI'S AND BALLADS. Reign ofllenry I., 1100-1135. Z\)t ISmgljttng of Count &foffrn> of &n(ou. Oh, listen, ye dames and warriors all ; For never before or since Was there known so stately a festival As that which at Rouen did befall At the knighting of a prince. Count Geoffrey of Anjou was his name, And the race of our noblest kings — The great Plantagenets, whose fame Old England should ever be proud to claim — From this gallant chieftain springs. That name Count Geoffrey did first assume When, riding to the chase, He wore in his casque, instead of plume, A nodding crest of the yellow broom, In its fresh and fragrant grace. The train it is moving with stately march Through the vaulted abbey-gate ; The lances are group'd beneath corbel and arch, Like a forest dark of the slender larch, So airy, and tall, and straight. The bishop walk'd first in his mitre and gown, A reverend prelate was he ; With his bare silver tresses in place of a crown, Next came great King Henry of learned renown, From England beyond the sea. KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY. 15 There were heroes and chieftains undaunted in war, — In peace gentle, generous, and true ; With a step like a monarch, a glance like a star, Came the Empress Matilda from Germany far, — The betroth'd of the Count of Anjou. As they paced up the aisle to the organ's slow strain, Like unrolling a blazonried page, The walls of the grey abbey echo'd again, And its outspreading arches seem'd blessing the train With the deep, quiet fervour of age. The high mass is over, the aspirant kneels At the feet of King Henry the wise ; What strength and what hope in his spirit he feels, As the vow of his knighthood he solemnly seals With his lips, and his heart, and his eyes ! The monarch he lifted a Damascene blade O'er the kneeling count's brow on high ; A blow on his shoulder full gently he laid, And by that little action a knight he is made, Baptised into chivalry ! u Bear thou this blow," said the king to the knight, " But never bear blow again ; For thy sword is to keep thine honour white, And thine honour must keep thy good sword bright, And both must be free from stain. Thou takest a pledge upon thee now To be loyal, and true, and brave, Ever to succour the weak and low, And to make the fierce oppressor bow, And the helpless to aid and save. 16 LAYS AND BALLADS. Firm to thy God and thine honour's laws, Remember this solemn word, That the knight who ever his good sword draws Save in a fair and a righteous cause Is worthy to lose that sword. Two cuisses of steel I give to thee, Proof against blade and dart ; Even so thy virtue proof should be 'Gainst the strokes of that ghostly enemy Who wars upon the heart. I give thee two spurs of gold so bright — They are badges of chivalry ; Thou must use them as becomes a knight, Still to press onward in the fight, And never to turn and flee. I give thee a glorious steed from Spain — Black as a starless night ; As his docile neck obeys the rein, Bend thou beneath thy lady's chain, So binding, yet so slight. I give thee a helm with a dancing crest ; And like that airy plume, The heart beneath thy steely vest Should ever be lightsome in thy breast, Unshadow'd by fortune's gloom. Rise up a knight | w With a joyous spring Count Geoffrey leap'd on high ; His sword he clasp'd like a living thing, — " For God, my lady, and my king! Be this my battle-cry." KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY. 17 Matilda's band hath buckled his spurs — ■ A happy heart was his ; And surely a happy task was hers, For blest is the bride who ministers To her husband's fame and bliss. Lightly he sprang* on his best of steeds, Which stood at the abbey-door ; In his flashing eye each gazer reads A promise bright of valorous deeds, As he gallops fair Kouen o'er. Blithely he rides in the people's sight, While the joyous heralds cry, " God's blessing on Geoffrey the new-made knight — Long may he live, and well may he fight, And nobly at last may he die !" 18 LAYS AND BALLADS. Reign of Stephen, 1135-1154. £J)e ^stape of tije lEmjntss fttattltia. 1 Through changeful clouds of night The winter moon was gliding, Like a bird with wings of light On the buoyant breezes riding ; Fair was the scene, and strangely wild, Beneath her wan transparent ray ; For the snow, in glittering masses piled, Gave back a light that mock'd the day. It lay in shining heaps, Like pearls of purest brightness; It clothed the woods and steeps In robes of bridal whiteness; And high its crystal ramparts rose Along old Thames's alter'd shore ; With one wide field of foam-like snows The mighty stream was frozen o'er. Where Oxford's stately towers Rise dark above the water, She chides the mournful hours, Great Henry's queenly daughter ; 1 The escape of Matilda took place as narrated in the ballad; but the maiden who is there supposed to suggest the scheme is an imaginary- personage. ESCAPE OF THE EMPRESS MATILDA. 19 Her ears are filled with sounds of woe. Her eyes behold a sight of dread ; Without, she sees the rebel foe — Within, the dying and the dead. Full sadly spake the bands Of yielding on the morrow ; Then wrung the queen her hands, Crying, in wrathful sorrow, Ci Ah, Gloucester! ah, my brother dear! Thou truest and thou best of men ! "Twould not be thus if thou wert here — Eight soon should I be rescued then !" Down gazed those valiant lords, Their grief and shame were bitter ; Alas, ungrateful words ! Thy tears, O queen, were fitter ; For true of heart and strong of hand, Each warrior fenced thee with his life ; But when stern Famine bares her brand, Man can but perish in the strife ! Out spake a maiden then : " Counsel my lady needeth ; When fails the wit of men, Oft woman's wit succeedeth. At Wallingford, Earl Eobert bides, To guard thy son, thine England's heir : Can we not cross the frozen tides, To seek for aid and safety there P " Not so, alas ! not so ! Long is the way, and dreary ; How shall we pass the foe — We, faint and worn and weary V- c2 20 LAYS AND UALLADS. " Doubt nothing/' said that damsel bold ; 11 But only trust thyself to me, And thou shalt learn how fearless-soul'd An English maiden dares to be !" u Farewell, ye noble hearts ; God take you to his keeping! Behold, your queen departs From friends so loyal, weeping V 9 Matilda donned a milk-white vest; And that same damsel, fair and true, In robes of stainless white was dress'd, Like the eold snow's unspotted hue. With linked cords they bound The empress and her maiden ; O cords, be strong and sound, For dearly are ye laden ! They lighted noiselessly and fair Upon the river's glassy bed ; The silence of the midnight air Received no echo from their tread. They fled, like startled deer From the eager huntsman trooping, Beneath the ice-hills clear Full oft for shelter stooping. The watchmen gazed adown the stream, As they paced around the rebel-camp : " See, how the flying snow-flakes gleam Under the moon's resplendent lamp !" Six weary miles they fled, With fear and weakness striving, Their cheeks as white with dread As the snows against them driving. ESCAPE OF THE EMPRESS MATILDA. 21 They paused awhile at Abington, While steeds were brought of fleetest power ; To Wallingford they hurried on, And reach'd it ere the dawn's first hour. Her steed the empress checked, Scarce could her limbs sustain her ; Little of that she reck'd, Nought now hath power to pain her. Widely Earl Robert flings the gates, His sister and his queen to greet ; He leads her where prince Henry waits, And, ah, their first embrace w T as sweet ! Matilda wept apart, Gentle and calm her weeping, Softening her haughty heart, Like dew the hard earth steeping. Her young son in her arms she press'd : " With thee," she cried, " thou child most dear, And with my brother's generous breast To shield me, there is nought I fear. Let honour due and fair To this my maid be given ; Bless w r e with praise and prayer The pitying God of heaven ; His hand hath saved me from my foes, His hand shall still my friends sustain ; Thanks be to God ! I am with those Who are my heart's beloved again!" 22 LAYS AND BALLADS. Efje <£ngli»f) fHmftant anto ttjc Saracen lalni. LAY THE FIRST. It was a merchant, a merchant of fame, And he sail'd to the Holy Land : Gilbert a Becker was his name; And lie went to trade with the Syrians rich For velvets, and satins, and jewels, which lie might sell on the western strand. But the luckless merchant was captive ta'en By a Turcoman fierce and rude; They bound his limbs with a galling chain, And they set him to labour, early and late, In the gardens which lay round the palace-gate Of the terrible chief Mahmoud. It was there he met with a Saracen maid Of virtue and beauty rare : And, behold, our merchant forgot his trade ; His English habits aside he flung, And he learn'd to speak with a Saracen tongue, For the sake of that damsel fair. He taught Zarina the Christians' lore ; And the hours sped swiftly by, When together they trod the lonely shore, And she listened to him with a willing ear, And he gazed in her eyes so deep and clear, By the light of the morning sky. THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 23 They plighted their faith, and they vow'd to wed, If Gilbert should e'er be free ; How could she doubt a word he said ? For her heart was trustful, pure, and mild, Like the heart of a young unfearing child, And she loved him hopefully. But days stole on, and months stole on, And Gilbert was captive yet ; A long, long year had come and gone, When the maiden wander' d with earnest eye To the shadowy walk 'neath the palm-trees high, Where oft before they met. " I am a Christian, my Gilbert, now," The Saracen lady said ; The tone of her voice was sweet and low, Like the voice of the night-breeze, cool and calm, When it sighs through the leaves of the murmuring palm, Of its own light sounds afraid. " At eve and at morn to thy God I pray ; Oh, why should I linger here ? Let us flee to thine England, far away ; The God we serve shall guide our bark Over the desert of waters dark ; For how can a Christian fear ? I will send to thee at the hour of eve, When the curtains are drawn o'er heaven ; And I shall not weep for the friends I leave, For I am an orphan, and ne'er have known A gentle word or a kindly tone, Save such as thou hast given. 24 LAYS AND BALLADS. My gems shall purchase a gallant boat, And a crew of skilful men : Oh, when on the fetterless waves we float, With the wide blue sky and the wide blue sea Stretching around us triumphantly, Wilt thou not bless me then V He kiss'd her hand, and he vow'd to come ; And the night was calm and fair : Oh, how the captive thought on home, As he gazed the dashing waters o'er, And noiselessly paced the rugged shore; But Zarina was not there ! He look'd to the east, he look'd to the west, But her form he could not see ; And fear struck cold upon his breast : Ye glittering stars, so calm, so pale, Say, have ye whispered the lover's tale To some ruthless enemy ? He look'd to the south, he iook'd to the north, A light, light step he hears ! And a figure steps from the shadows forth — But, alas for Zarina, it is not she ! It is but her faithful nurse Safie, And her eyes are dim with tears. 6i Oh, listen," she cried, in bitter woe, " Zarina is captive made ! Sir Christian, Sir Christian, alone must thou go ; Thy way is still clear ; but they know that she Was wont to wander at eve with thee, By treacherous lips betray 'd. THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 25 She bids thee flee to thine own fair land, For thou canst not aid her here." The old nurse pointed with her hand. Gilbert a Becket he grieved and sigh'd ; But he saw the bark on the white waves ride, And he thought on England dear. "Adieu, my lady," at last he said, While the nurse in silence wept ; " Oh, I ne'er will forget my Saracen maid, But I'll come to seek thee across the wave !" The words of the merchant's vow were brave — How shall that vow be kept? Away flies the bark o'er the billowy foam, As though her sails were wings — She seems to know she is travelling home; And at last good Gilbert a Becket stands On the noblest land of all earthly lands — Oh, how his glad heart springs ! LAY THE SECOND, Where is Zarina ? A captive lone She sits, with tearful eye ? Till two long years are come and gone ; And at last, when her ruthless gaolers slept, One eve of beauty, forth she crept To gaze from the lattice high. The wall was steep, yet she dared to leap — Safe on the turf doth she stand ! 'Tis pleasant to be on the green earth free ; 26 LAYS AND BALLADS. Yet where shall the hapless maiden go, For the English tongue she doth not know, Though she seeks the English land ? She hath wander'd down to the shore, and there Is a bark about to sail, With tapering masts that seem to bear, Upon their crests so slight and high, The outspread curtains of the sky, Hung o'er with star-lamps pale. Oft hath the maiden her lover heard, When he spake of his far-off home : Back to her lip returns the word, And " London ! London \" in haste she cries, With a piteous tone and with streaming eyes, While the seamen around her come. " It is sad and strange," said the sailors then, " That the damsel weepeth thus ; But oh, let it never be said that men Looked on a woman in sore distress, And gave no aid to her feebleness ! — The maiden shall sail with us ! M So they took her in ; and Zarina smiled, And thank' d them with her eyes ; Gentle she was as a chidden child ; But the mariners could not understand The wondrous words of the eastern land, So they sail'd in silent wise. They came to shore at fair Stamboul, And the maiden roam'd all night Through its streets so calm, and still, and cool ; THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 27 And to every passer-by that came She murmur 7 d forth the one dear name, Clasping her hands so white. Some turned aside with careless pride, And some with angry frown ; With a curious ear some turn'd to hear ; But the word she spake each passer knew, For London is known the wide world through, From England's fair renown. From place to place did the maiden stray, And still that little word Was her only guide on her venturous way. Full many a pitying stranger gave Aid to her journey by land and wave, When her low sweet voice was heard. And oft at eve would Zarina stand On the edge of the darkening flood, And sing the lays of her own far land : So sweet was her voice when she sang of home, That the listening peasants would round her come, Proffering their simple food. Thus when full many a month had pass'd Of wearisome wanderings long, To the wish'd-for place she was borne at last ; And the maiden gaz'd with bewildered eye On each spreading roof and turret high, Mid London's hurrying throng. Through all that maze of lane and street With pleading looks she went ; And still her weary voice was sweet : 28 LAYS AND BALLADS. But now was " Gilbert" the name she cried ; The world of London is very wide, And they knew not whom she meant. Gilbert! — her lover's name—how oft Had she breath'd that sound before ! Her eye grew bright, her tone grew soft ; For she thought that life and hope must dwell In the precious name she loved so well ; And her troubles all secm'd o'er. Now Gilbert a Becket was dwelling there, Like a merchant-prince was he ; His gardens were wide, and his halls were fair ; His servants flatter'd, his minstrels play'd ; — He had almost forgotten his Saracen maid, And their parting beyond the sea. But word was brought, as he sate at meat, Of a damsel fair and sad, Who wander'd for ever through lane and street, With clasped hands and strength o'erspent, Murmuring u Gilbert!" as she went, Like one possess'd, or mad. Gilbert a Becket, he straightway rose, For his conscience prick'd him sore ; Forth from his splendid hall he goes — A well-known voice is in his ears, And he sees a fair face veil'd in tears, And he thinks on the Syrian shore. Forth to Zarina in haste he came, Oh, how could he ever forget? " Gilbert!" she cries— 'tis the self-same name, THE MERCHANT AND THE LADY. 2\) But, ah ! what a changed and joyous tone, For the maiden's heart is no more alone, And the lovers at last are met ! He took that happy wanderer home, He placed her at his side ; O'er desert plain, and o'er ocean's foam, She hath come, with her changeless love and faith ; And now there is nothing can part, save death, The bridegroom and the bride ! The maiden was led to the holy font, They named her " Matilda" there ; Yet ever was Gilbert a Becket wont, In his joyous home, with a sweet wife blest, To say that he loved Zarina best, His Saracen true and fair. Their first-born son was a priest of power, Who ruled on English ground— His fame remaineth to this hour ! God send to every valiant knight A lady as true, and a home as bright, As Gilbert the merchant found ! 30 LAYS AND BALLADS. Reign of Henry II., 1154-1189. <£avl &trcmg&oto. Earl Strong bow lies in Dublin towers, Begirt by a mighty host ; At the horn's wild sound they have gather' d around From forest, hill, and coast. There are thirty thousand island men, With spears, and bows, and darts ; Earl Strongbow has not one to ten — Six hundred gallant hearts ! Six hundred gallant hearts had he, And not a blade beside ; But these did battle valorously For Strongbow and his bride. Fair Eva wept, fair Eva pray'd, And wrung her hands of snow ; Alas, her tears are little aid Against the ruthless foe ! The brave earl sate at his castle-board At the close of a summer's clay ; Freely the generous wine was pour'd As they feasted the eve away ; He gazed on the manly brows around — Cried he, " We may yet hold out, For our walls so strong will shield us long, And our hearts are full as stout !" EARL STRONGBOW. 31 They answer'd his words by a ringing cheer, And Milo de Cogan spoke ; " We ]aek but bold Fitzstephen here, With his hand and heart of oak ; In Carrig fair, Fitzstephen rests ; But knew he of our need, Soon should we see his courser free Come leaping o ? er the mead." As he spake, a page came up the hall, Like a ghost of the drowivd his seeming ; Pale was his lace and feeble his pace, And his vest all drench' d and streaming. gi Lord baron," he cried, " unseen did I glide Through the midst of yon mighty foe, Thy moat did I swim, as the twilight sank dim, And I bear thee news of woe I Be sad, be sad ! thou hast look ; d thy last On the bold Fitzstephen's brow \ His knightly limbs ere morn be past Shall feed the hooded crow : Beset by a force of fearful strength, By want and famine worn, His gallant heart gives way at length, 7 And he must yield ere morn. He sends thee this glove of steel by me ; And he bade me pray ye all To give a mass to his memory, And a sigh to grace his fall." Sadly the token Earl Strongbow took, While sorrow, shame, and ire Strove for a while in his downcast look ; But anon his eyes shot fire ! 32 LAYS AND BALLADS. " Answer me, friends," he cried ; " if thus Our danger and need were known, Would not Fitzstephen die for us ? And now shall he fall alone?" Up leap'd they all at those stirring words, And they shook the ancient hall With the angry clash of their outdrawn swords, And their shouts, " We are ready all! " Ready were all — ah, noble few, Ready ye were to die ! That heart is chill which feels no thrill At your fidelity ! One swift embrace exchanging then, Like friends who part ere death, They rush on the foe, as the mountain-piled snow Rushes down on the plains beneath ! Ah, knew'st thou, Eva, good and fair, Kneeling with lifted hands, How he whose name thou breath' st in prayer By death beleaguer' d stands, Paler would grow thy cheeks' soft glow, Sadder thine eyes' soft light, But prouder still thy trembling heart, To be wife to so true a knight ! Come forth, come forth from thy lonely bower, A messenger rides below ; " Oh, bring' st thou news from Dublin's tower? Speak, is it weal or woe ?" " Joy, lady, joy — these wond'ring eyes Have look'd on deeds of fame ; Joy — for the earth, the sea, the skies, Ring with Earl Pembroke's name ! EARL STRONGBOW. 33 That tiny band, I saw it dash Through the enemy's gathered crowd, It was like the slender lightning's flash Cleaving the massy cloud. Clear shot they through — on either hand Their foes nor fight nor fly, But stand, as trembling sheep might stand When a lion hath darted by ! And when they came to Carrig fair, Trembling their eyes beheld Its lonely banners rock the air, Its heights unsentinell'd ; Its troops, a sad and downcast host, Slow moving to the gate, Leaving their leader at his post, Death's welcome stroke to wait ! 1 To the rescue, ho ! ' they charge the foe With a torrent's headlong might ; With answering shout the troops rush out And j oin that desperate fight. Oh, who shall say what Fitzstephen felt When, from his tower on high, He saw the light of their lances bright Gleaming against the sky ? Oh, who shall say what Fitzstephen felt When the glorious fight was done, And his friend he prest to his fervent breast, As a mother clasps her son !" Fair Eva kneel'd on the flowery mead, But never a word she spoke ; When hark ! the tramp of a coming steed That joyful silence broke. 34 LAYS AND BALLADS. In glistening steel, with armed heel. And tall plume stooping low, With pennon fair, that wooes the air, A warrior nears them now; His step is light, and his smile is bright, As he flings down his charger's rein : Oh! this is Pembroke's graceful knight — He is come to his own again ! " Now, welcome home, mine honour'd lord ! Proud should old England be To learn from thy resistless sword Pure faith and chivalry I Oh, I have wept from sun to sun, A sad and widowM wife ; But I would not wish thy deed undone, Though it had cost thy life f* CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 35 Reign of Richard the First, 1189-1199. ®fje ©apttfottj) of &omr ire lion. ! IN THREE LAYS. LAY THE FIRST. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE KING. In the realm of sunny Palestine, Realm of the rose, the palm, the vine, The warrior-king hath fought ; And the valour of his strong right hand Free passage through that hallow' d land For Christian men hath wrought. Now may the pilgrim fearless tread The spot that held his Saviour dead, And fearless kneel to pay His vows before that sacred shrine, In the land of sunny Palestine, Where Christians love to pray. And the warrior-king hath won him fame, A mighty and a glorious name Is his, the wide world through ; For his deeds on that far eastern shore, Done in a righteous cause, seem more Than man alone might do. 3G LAYS AND BALLADS. A generous knight he was, who strove For fame, and piety, and love, Not for base earthly gain : He saw his comrades share the .spoil Won by his valour and his toil, With careless, calm disdain. Enough it was for him to feel That for his God he drew his steel, And for his faith was bold ; And he thought one smile so gently bright, Given by his lady to her knight, Was worth a world of gold. And he knew that he should leave behind The legacy to all mankind Of an undying name ; A name to thrill the brave, and make The very coward's heart awake To not ignoble shame. And now, his toils and dangers o'er, Joyous he quits that eastern shore ; Oh, let him journey fast ! For his eager heart with hope doth beat, He pants once more to set his feet On England's soil at last. Yet are there foes upon his way To strike, beleaguer, and waylay ; — The promise-breaking Greek, The lord of France's lovely land, And Austria's duke, as strong of hand As he of wit is w T eak. CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 37 In a Templar's garb the king is drest, The white cross gleams upon his breast ; Safe in this strange disguise He hopes to join his lady dear, And read his welcome in the tear That bathes her gentle eyes. Look forth, look forth from England's shore ! Look forth, look forth, the far seas o'er ! When will his swift bark come ? Oh, swift and sure the bark should be Which bears across the willing sea Our wanderer to his home ! Take up, take up the strain of grief ! Lost is our warrior and our chief! Foes lurk'd upon his path : Nor close disguise, nor linked mail, Nor faith, nor chivalry avail To save him from their wrath. Captive he is ; but to what foe, Alas, his English do not know ! A dark and sunless gloom Hath closed above that noble head, As closeth o'er the newly dead The cold and changeless tomb ! LAY THE SECOND. THE COMPLAINT OF CCEUR DE LION IN HIS CAPTIVITY. I was a king of fearless might, I was a warrior and a knight ; My soul was like the morning light, So sparkling in its buoyancy ! 38 LAYS AND BALLADS i I am a captive sad and lone, And all my glorious things are gone, Except the heart that is mine own, Unchanging in its royalty ! The crown that I was wont to wear, The robe of pride, the sceptre fair, — These are not mine, though mine they were,— Gone are the signs of majesty ! The sword that I was w r ont to wield, The dancing plume, the knightly shield, The clarion calling to the field, Are lost to my captivity ! Oh, that I were a simple hind, Slavish in toil, and weak in mind, So I might feel the morning wind Sweep o'er my forehead joyously ! The rills along my native plains Are murmuring forth their gladsome strains ; And the gay breeze that scorneth chains Is blowing fresh and wantonly ! The birds that skim my native air Are pouring forth sweet music there ; The woods are green, the hills are fair, While I am in captivity ! My strength is worn, my spirits sink, My heart does every thing but shrink ; Alas, my people, do ye think Upon your king regretfully ? CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. 39 My queen, 1 my wife, my lady ! thou Of the blue eye and dazzling brow, Say, art thou weeping for me now, In sad and patient constancy ? Do ye remember me ? Oh, fast The weary months are gliding past : Will they bring liberty at last ? Or have ye all forgotten me ? Ah, friends ! if ye were thus distress'd, Thus chain'd, insulted, and oppress'd, Ye would not find this faithful breast So careless of your memory ! Ah, lady ! did a tear but steep Those moonlight eyes, so still and deep, Here is a heart, ere thou shouldst weep, That would rejoice to die for thee ! Hard is the lesson I must learn, How changeless faith meets false return ; The love I give I cannot earn As strong in its fidelity ! My God, for Thee my sword I drew ; Thy foes my strong arm overthrew ; Oh, do not Thou forget me too ; Give aid in mine extremity ! Upon Thy love my heart shall lean Even in my dungeon's gloomy scene ; Forgotten by my friends, my queen, In Thee I find sufficiency ! i Berengaria of Navarre, a princess of great beauty and gentleness. E 40 LAYS AND BALLADS. LAY THE THIRD. THE LAMENT OF THE ENGLISH FOR THE CAFTIVITY OF CGEU.R DE LION. We have lost our hero-monarch, our lion-king is ta'en, Around his free and knightly limbs is bound the shame- ful chain ; The eye which used to marshal us is waxing faint and dim, For the light of day, which shines on us, is shut and barr'd from him. Alas, alas, for England ! our princely chief is lost ; And powerless is the mighty arm that hath struck down a host ; Our people hath no ruler, no tenant hath our throne ; And we know not where the euemy hath laid our glorious one. We have followed him to battle in the far-off eastern climes ; We have watch'd his matchless valour a thousand, thou- sand times ; We have seen the humbled Saracen kneel low to kiss his robe ; For his fame hath but one limit — the limit of the globe ! For his coronal of glory he won the brightest gem Where the stately palms are circling thy land, Jeru- salem ! The very air that fans thy domes is vocal with his name, And the pale cheek of each infidel pays tribute to his fame. CAPTIVITY OF CGSUR DE LION. 41 His eye was like the lightning, his arm was like its stroke, When it shivers into shapeless dust the gnarl'd and massy oak ; His voice was like a trumpet with a challenge in its tone, Yet sweet as the wild lark that sings in field and forest lone. But now there is a fetter on that firm and noble hand, And mute is that imperial voice whose accent was com- mand ; That eye of bright authority is waxing faint and dim, For the beams of day, the breath of morn — all, all are barr'd from him ! Oh, is it wily Philip who have wrought thee this mis- chance, Because thine English banner did outstrip the flag of France ? Or is it specious Burgundy, that soft and carpet-knight, Because thy foot hath ever been before him in the fight ? Or is it craven Austria, who plann'd the false surprise, In vengeance for the lofty scorn of thine undaunted eyes? Well hath thy soul disdain' d him, and well thine eye hath spurn'd The cunning envy of the base, which in his spirit burn'd. Out on thee, recreant Austria ! in battle thou wouldst be Full glad to sue for mercy to the Lion on tby knee ; Thou art not meet to serve him as a squire or as a slave ; Alas, that craft and dastardy prevail against the brave ! 42 LAYS AND BALLADS. We have sheath' d our useless weapons, we have flung our helmets down, Our steeds are uncaparison'd, our clarions are unblown ; Why should the glorious clarion sound, to cheer us on the foe ? Thou art not here to marshal us, so wherefore should we go ? All powerless are thy warriors — they know not where thou art ; They can but lock thy bitter wrongs within each burn- ing heart ; For thee the minstrel only his lay of mourning sings, Thou monarch of all heroes ! thou hero among kings ! CCEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 43 Coeur fee fUon anir tjts Horse. " Ah, Fanuel, my noble horse, thou bleedest — thou art slain ! Thou wilt never bear me to the chase or the battle- field again ! Thou wert a steed of peerless might, a steed of strength and glee ; Eight faithful wert thou to thy lord, and well thy lord loved thee. Thou wouldst answer, when I named thee, with a joyous neigh and proud, For thy voice was like a cymbal's, so exulting and so loud ; Thou wouldst arch thy neck, and stamp thy foot, for joy when I came near ; Thou wert eager to look lovely in the eyes of one so dear. If other knight dared ride thee, with gay and reckless bound, As a billow shakes the foam away, thou'dst toss him to the ground : Yet gentle wert thou in thy strength ; my lady-love might dare To twine her fingers in thy mane, as in a child's bright hair. Thou didst not start nor tremble at the sound of clash- ing swords ; Thy spirit in the battle was as eager as thy lord's ; e 2 44 LAYS AND BALLADS. Like him, thy fittest place was where the closing lines engage, When thou wouldst snort and shake thy mane, like a lion in his rage. A friend and a companion thou wert unto my heart ; Alas, alas, my noble steed, and is it thus we part ? Low on the ground, and lifeless, I see thy graceful head ; My voice awakes thee not, — by this, I know that thou art dead. I must leave thee on the burning sands, beneath the eastern sun, Like a worn and sleeping warrior whose battle-task is done ; Yet thou shalt not be forgotten by thy master and thy friend ; Where'er my name is known on earth, thy glory shall extend." King Richard thus lamented for his steed when it was slain ; But he turn'd him to the combat, and he drew his sword again ; " Take back thy barb, good Longsword ; l mount, mount, and be thou mute ; For I will not fight on horseback, if thou must fight a-foot." But the mighty sultan Saladin had watch'd our gallant king, How he bore him in the battle like an eagle on the wing; 1 William, Earl of Salisbury, sumamed Longsword. CCEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 45 He saw his charger bleeding ; he saw the hero fight On foot amid his followers, a fearless-hearted knight. He bade a coal-black steed be brought, and to his page he spake, " Lead this to yonder chieftain — bid him ride it for my Fair courtesy beseemeth the lofty in degree ; And to honour such a hero, doth honour unto me." The page he bow'd full lowly, that courser's rein he took, And he led him where King Eichard had kneel'd beside a brook ; All heated with the battle, he had cast his helm aside, And he stoop'd to bathe his forehead in the cold and glassy tide. " king, the mighty Saladin hath sent this steed to thee;" Thus spake the page full humbly, and dropp'd upon his knee. King Richard smooth'd that charger's mane, and stroked his graceful head ; " Go thank your courteous master," right graciously he said. " Much shall I prize thee for his sake, my steed of glossy black i " With that he grasp'd the courser's mane, to leap upon his back : But Longs word came to check him, that brave and loyal count ; " Nay, nay, my liege — your pardon — let me try him ere you mount." 46 LAYS AND BALLADS. " Who doubts the noble sultan's faith ?" King Richard sternly said ; But the earl was in the saddle ere the answer well was made : Oh, fair and knightly was his seat upon the gilded selle ; And he prick'd the charger's side, resolved to try his mettle well. The Arab feels a stranger's spur, a stranger's hand he knows ; Down to the dust right scornfully he bends his haughty brows ; Then tossing up his wrathful head, he scour'd across the plain, Like the wild bull of the jungle, in his fury and disdain. Away, away, with frantic speed, across the flying sand, He rushes like a torrent freed, uncheck'd by human hand ; Nor did he stay his headlong race until his path had crost, Like a flash of summer lightning, the Paynim's startled host. He came to where the sultan stood, his ancient master dear. And there he paused ; and sweet it was his joyous neigh to hear ; He laid his head right lovingly against the sultan's breast, With wistful and expectant eyes that asked to be caress'd. CXEUR DE LION AND HIS HORSE. 47 Oh, deeply blush'd brave Saladin ! he blush' d for noble shame, Lest the stain of such a stratagem should light upon his fame ; He bent full low his turban'd brow, and scarce his eyes could lift, As he craved of good Earl William a pardon for his gift. "Now grieve not, gallant sultan," quoth the earl in earnest tone ; " For the great heart of KiDg Eichard is noble as thine own : No doubt is in his confidence ; as soon would he be- lieve That he could be dishonour' d, as that thou couldst thus deceive." Of joyous heart was Saladin that thus the earl should say; He bade his slaves caparison a steed of silver-grey ; And with many a phrase of courtesy, and many a fair excuse, He sent that docile charger for good King Richard's use. To that steed, in fair remembrance of the sultan true and brave, The stately name of Saladin our gallant monarch gave. Thus to his foe each warrior-king was courteous as a brother : Oh, thus should generous enemies do honour to each other ! 48 LAYS AND BALLADS. Reign of King John, 1199-1216. Cfje lag of tfje feariegg Be €ourcp. The fame of the fearless De Courcy Is boundless as the air ; With his own right hand he won the land Of Ulster, green and fair ! But he lieth low in a dungeon now, Powerless, in proud despair ; For false King John hath cast him in, And closely chain'd him there. The noble knight was weary At morn, and eve, and noon ; For chilly bright seem'd dawn's soft light, And coldly shone the moon : No gleaming mail gave back the rays Of the dim unfriendly sky, And the proud free stars disdain'd to gaze Through his lattice, barr'd and high. But when the trumpet-note of war Eang through his narrow room, Telling of banners streaming far, Of knight, and steed, and plume ; Of the wild melee, and the sabre's clash, How would his spirit bound ! Yet ever after the lightning's flash Night closeth darker round. THE FEARLESS DE C0URC7. 49 Down would he sink on the floor again, Like the pilgrim who sinks on some desert plain, Even while his thirsting ear can trace The hum of distant streams ; Or the maimed hound, who hears the chase Sweep past him in his dreams. The false king sate in his hall of state 'Mid knights and nobles free ; " Who is there," he cried, "who will cross the tide, And do battle in France for me ? There is cast on mine honour a fearful stain, The death of the boy who ruled Bretagne ; ! And the monarch of France, my suzerain, Hath bidden a champion for me appear, My fame from this darkning blot to clear. Speak — is your silence the silence of fear, My knights and my nobles 1 Frowning and pale Your faces grow as I tell my tale ! Is there not one of this knightly ring Who dares do battle for his king ?" The warriors they heard, but they spake not a word ; The earth some gazed upon, And some did raise a stedfast gaze To the face of false King John. Think ye they fear'd 1 They were Englishmen all, Though mutely they stood in their monarch's hall ; The heroes of many a well-fought day, Who loved the sound of a gathering fray, Even as the lonely shepherd loves The herd's soft bell in the mountain-groves. 1 Prince Arthur of Brittany, whose melancholy fate has been too often the theme of song and story to require notice here. 50 LAYS AND BALLADS. Why were they silent ? There was not one Who could trust the word of false King John ; And their cheeks grew pallid as they thought On the deed of blood by his base hand wrouglt ; Pale, with a brave heart's generous fear, When forced a tale of shame to hear. 'Twas a coward whiteness then did chase The glow of shame from the false king's face ; And he turn'd aside, in bootless pride, That witness of his guilt to hide ; Yet every heart around him there Witness against him more strongly bare ! Oh, out then spake the beauteous queen : 1 " A captive lord I know, Who3e loyal heart hath ever been Eager to meet the foe ; Were true De Courcy here this day, Freed from his galling chain, Never, oh never, should scoffers say, That, amid all England's rank and might, Their king had sought him a loyal knight, And sought such knight in vain !" Up started the monarch, and clear'd his brow, And bade them summon De Courcy now. Swiftly his messengers hasted away, And sought the cell where the hero lay ; They bade him arise at his master's call, And follow their steps to the stately hall. He is brought before the council, — There are chains upon his hands ; 1 Isabella of Angouleme, wife to King John, celebrated for her beauty and high spirit. THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 51 With his silver hair, that aged knight, Like a rock overhung with foam-clouds white, Proudly and calmly stands. He gazes on the monarch With a stern and starlike eye ; And the company muse and marvel much, That the light of the old man's eye is such, After long captivity. His fetters hang upon him Like an unheeded thing ; Or like a robe of purple, worn With graceful and indifferent scorn By some great-hearted king. And strange it was to witness How the false king look'd aside ; For he dared not meet his captive's eye ! Thus ever the spirit's royalty Is greater than pomp and pride ! The false king spake to his squires around, And his lifted voice had an angry sound ; " Strike ye the chains from each knightly limb ! Who was so bold as to fetter him ? Warrior, believe me, no hest of mine Bade them fetter a form like thine ; Thy sovereign knoweth thy fame too well." He paused, and a cloud oh his dark brow fell ; For the knight still gazed upon him, And his eye was like a star ; And the words on the lips of the false king died, Like the murmuring sounds of an ebbing tide By the traveller heard afar. 52 LAYS AND BALLADS. From the warrior's form they loosed the chain ; His face was lighted with calm disdain ; Nor cheek, nor lip, nor eye, gave token Even that he knew his chains were broken. He spake — no music, loud or clear, Was in the voice of the grey-hair'd knight ; But a low stern sound, like that ye hear In the march of a mail-clad host by night. " Brother of Cceur de Lion," said he, " These chains have not dishonoured me \" There was crushing scorn in each simple word, Mightier than battle-axe or sword. Not long did the heart of the false king thrill To the touch of passing shame, For it was hard, and mean, and chill ; As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill, Leaving it cold and unbroken still, — That feeling went and came ; And now to the knight he made reply, Pleading his cause right craftily ; SkilPd was his tongue in specious use Of promise fair and of feign'd excuse, Blended with words of strong appeal To love of fame and to loyal zeal. At length he ceased ; and every eye Gazed on De Courcy wistfully. " Speak !" cried the king in that fearful pause ; " Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause?" The old knight struck his foot on the ground, Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound ; And he spake with a voice of thunder, Solemn and fierce in tone, I THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 53 Waving his hand to the stately band Who stood by the monarch's throne, As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive When cheering his squadrons on ; " I will fio-ht for the honour of England, Though not for false King John V He turn'd and strode from the lofty hall, Nor seem'd to hear the sudden cheer Which burst, as he spake, from the lips of all. And when he stood in the air without, He paused as if in joyful doubt ; To the forests green and the wide blue sky Stretching his arms embracingly, With stately tread and uplifted head, As a good steed tosses back his mane When they loose his neck from the servile rein : Ye know not, ye who are always free, How precious a thing is liberty ! " O world !" he cried ; " sky, river, hill ! Ye wear the garments of beauty still ; How have ye kept your youth so fair, 1 While age has whitenM this hoary hair V- But when the squire, who watch ; d his lord, Gave to his hand his ancient sword, The hilt he pressed to his eager breast, Like one who a long-lost friend hath met ; And joyously said, as he kiss'd the blade, " Methinks there is youth in my spirit yet. For France ! for France ! o'er the waters blue ; False king, dear land, adieu, adieu !" 1 The reader of German will here recognise an exquisite stanza from Uhland, very inadequately rendered. 54 LAYS a:nd ballads. He hath cross'd the booming ocean, On the shore he plants his lance ; And he sends his daring challenge Into the heart of France : " Lo, here I stand for England, Queen of the silver main ! To guard her fame and to cleanse her name From slander's darkening stain ! Advance, advance ! ye knights of France ; Give answer to my call ! Lo, here I stand for England ! And I defy ye all!" From the east and the north came champions forth — They came in a knightly crowd ; From the south and the west each generous breast Throbb'd at that summons proud. But though brave was each lord, and keen each sword, No warrior could withstand The strength of the hero-spirit Which nerved that old man's hand. He is conqueror in the battle ; He hath won the wreath of bay ; To the shining crown of his fair renown He hath added another ray ; He hath drawn his sword for England ; He hath fought for her spotless name ; And the isle resounds to her farthest bounds With her grey-hair' d hero's fame. In the ears of the craven monarch Oft must this burthen ring, — " Though the crown be thine and the royal line, He is in heart thy king !" THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. 55 So tliey gave this graceful honour To the bold De Courcy's race, That they ever should dare their helms to wear Before the king's own face : And the sons of that line of heroes To this day their right assume ; For, when every head is unbonneted, 1 They walk in cap and plume ! 1 The present representative of the house of De Courcy is Lord Kinsale. f2 56 LAYS AND BALLADS. &\)t SLament of Eleanor of 33retagne. [Eleanor was so beautiful that she was called " The Pearl of Brittany." She was the sister of Prince Arthur ; and after the murder of her brother she was imprisoned in Bristol Castle by the cruel and tyrannical John, where she died after a captivity of many years.] " Comfort me, O my God ! Mine only hope Thou art! The strokes of Thine afflicting rod Fall heavy on my heart. Oh, who would wish to live When life's bright flowers decay Oh, had I power to give This weight of life away ! Comfort me, O my God ! Thou didst Thyself endure Full many a bitter pang ; Thou, the All-holy, the All-pure, Upon the cross didst hang. My feet are on the track Trodden erewhile by Thine ; — Ah, do not cast me back On this weak heart of mine ! Comfort me, O my God ! I will pour forth my woes Into Thy pitying ear. Stern, stern must be the hearts of those Whose hands confined me here ; ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE. 57 In the morning of my days, In the spring of guiltless mirth, Never again to gaze Free on the gladsome earth ! Comfort me, O my God ! 'Twas said that I was fair As the white gem of the sea ; They named me, in my native air, The Pearl of Brittany : At tourneys have I been, And they chose me, far and near, To reign the tourney's queen, — I, the poor captive here. Comfort me, O my God! But I do not now regret My splendour, doomed to fade ; My changing beauty I forget ; — But oh, the wood's deep shade, The free bird's gushing songs, The sound of murmuring seas, — For these my spirit longs, And for dearer things than these* Comfort me, O my God ! I had a brother then, Whose place was in my heart $— ■ Oh, give me my beloved again, And freedom may depart ! How shall I breathe the tone Of that name, — the lost — the dear ? Arthur ! mine own, mine own ! — 58 LAYS AND BALLADS. Alas, thou canst not hear ! Comfort me, O my God ! They murder' d him by night. In the sweetness of his youth, His brow all bright with boyhood's light, Clear as the beams of truth. Falaise, thy walls, Falaise, Behold a fearful thing, For his brother's child a brother slays, And a traitor stabs his king ! Comfort me, O my God ! Yes, king thou shouldst have been Of this isle of high renown ; But death's wide gulf is now between Thee and thy thorny crown. My brother ! thou wert mine ! Of crowns I little reck ; But, oh, that I could twine These arms about thy neck! Comfort me, O my God ! Sleep on, sweet Arthur, sleep In thy calm and happy grave ; How couldst thou bear to see me weep, And not have power to save ? Farewell ! And shall I waste "My weary life away In weeping for the past ? No ! let me kneel and pray. Comfort me, O my God !" That wailing voice hath ceased, It melted into tears ; ELEANOR OF BRETAGNE. 59 And death's sure hand the maid released, After long mournful years. In her beauty and her bloom She was borne to that dark hold ; Thence was she carried to her tomb, Grey-hair'd, and wan, and old ! GO LAYS AND LALLADS. Reign of Henry III., 1216-1272. &\)t \hi\\tt an& tljc Otitlato. Oh, it was our gallant Prince Edward Rode forth into Alton wood ; His plume was white, his sword was bright, His heart was brave and good ; He saw the sunlight through the trees, Checkering the grassy earth ; He felt the breath of the summer breeze, And his spirit was full of mirth. It was there he met with a stranger knight; Full haughty was his face, His eye spoke scorn, though his mail was worn, And stately was his pace. u Now who art thou, of the darksome brow, Who wanderest here so free V 9 " Oh, I'm one that will walk the wild green woods, And never ask leave of thee." " How now, thou churl ?" quoth the angry prince, " Ask pardon on thy knee ! I am England's heir, of my wrath beware, Or ill shall it fare with thee." " Art thou England's heir?" quoth the outlaw bold ; " Well, if thy words be true, I see not why such a knight as I Should fear for such as you. THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. 61 I am Adam de Gordon, a noble free ; Perchance thou hast heard my name." " I have heard it, I trow (quoth the prince), and thou Art a traitor of blackest fame. Yield thee to me !" But the outlaw cried, " Now, if thou knowest not fear, Out with thy sword ! by a good knight's word, I will give thee battle here." " Come on !" cried that prince of dauntless heart * " Yet pause while I alight, For I never will play the craven's part, At odds with thee to fight." He sprang from his steed, he drew his blade, And a terrible fray began, The very first stroke that Prince Edward made, Blood from the Gordon ran. At the second stroke that Prince Edward made, The Gordon fell on his knee ; But he did not kneel to cry for aid — Of a loftier heart was he. To his feet he sprang, and the angry clang Of their flashing swords did sound Far through the green and solemn woods Stretching in beauty round. The Gordon is pale, and his strength doth fail, And his blood is ebbing fast, But the spirit so high, in his flashing eye, Is dauntless to the last. He hath struck the prince on his mailed breast, But the prince laugh' d scornfully ; " Ob, was it the wood-breeze stirr'd ray vest, Or a leaf from yonder tree P 62 LAYS AND BALLADS. There is bitter grief in the Gordon's eye, For he feels his strength depart ; It is not that he fears to die — To be conquered grieves his heart ; He sinks, like a gallant ship o'erthrown By the blast and the driving surf; " I yield me not /" is his last faint tone, As he falls on the trampled turf. The prince was proud as a reinless steed — Pride is an evil thing — But the heart he bore was a heart indeed, Right worthy of a king : He sheath' d his blade, he sprang to aid The Gordon as he lay ; " "Rise up," cried he, u my valorous foe, Thou hast borne thee well to-day." He kneel'd by his side, he stanch'd the tide Of life-blood flowing free ; With his scarf he bound each gaping wound Softly and tenderly : He lifted the Gordon on his steed, Himself he held the rein : " I hold thee," he said, " for a knight indeed, And I give thee thy life again." There was bitter grief in the Gordon's eye ; He fears not chains nor death, But he weeps for broken loyalty And for forgotten faith. Humbly he bent his knightly head With a changed and gentle brow : " Oh, pardon ! I yield, I yield !" he said ; " I am truly conquer' d now." THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. 63 Behold how mercy softeneth still The haughtiest heart that beats ; Pride with disdain may be answer'd again, But pardon at once defeats. The brave man felt forgiveness melt A heart by fear unshaken ; He was ready to die for his loyalty To the prince he had forsaken. Prince Edward hath brought him to Guilford Tower Ere that summer's day is o'er ; He hath led him in to the secret bower Of his fair wife Alianore ; ! His mother, the lady of gay Provence, 2 And his sire, the king, were there : Oh, scarcely the Gordon dared advance In a presence so stately and fair. But the prince hath kneel' d at his father's feet, — For the Gordon's life he sues ; His lady so fair, she join'd his prayer ; And how should the king refuse ? Can he his own dear son withstand, So duteous, brave, and true ; And the loveliest lady in all the land Kneeling before him too ? " My children, arise !" the old king said, And a tear was in his eye ; He laid his hand on each bright young head, And he bless'd them fervently. 1 Alianore, or Eleonora, princess of Castile. 2 Eleanor of Provence, wife to King Henry the Third. 64 LAYS AND BALLADS, u With a joyful heart I grant your prayer, And I bid the Gordon live ; Oh, the happiest part of a monarch's care Is to pity and forgive." Then spake the queen so fair and free, — " The Gordon I will make Steward of my royal house," quoth she, " For these dear children's sake." May every prince be as generous (Be this our prayer to Heaven) ; And may every gallant rebel thus Repent and be forgiven. DEATH OF KING HENRY III. 65 Reign of Edward I., 1272-1307. &f)e 30eatf) of Ifctng Hktwxib tfje &invo\ At Sicily's court Prince Edward sate, Of a joyous heart was lie, For he came from afar from the holy war, From battle and victory. There strode a messenger into the hall, He kneeFd upon his knee ; " What news dost thou bring," quoth Sicily's king, " From the fair isle of the sea ?" " I come to Prince Edward," the messenger cried, " And with heavy news I come ; For at eventide his young son died — He died in his English home !" Fair Elinore wrings her lily hands In a mother's bitter woe ; But firm and grave Prince Edward stands, Like a knight who meets his foe. " Take comfort, Alianore, my wife, Submit thee to this pain ; For it is but the God who giveth life Recalling His gift again." Oh, not the less fair Elinore weeps, Her lips can speak no word ; But her dark eyes raise their tearful gaze Up to her stedfast lord. Another step on the marble floor ; 'Tis the prince's page, I trow — 66 LAYS AND BALLADS. His page who fought on the Syrian shore ; He cometh sad and slow. Fair Elinore rose in hope and fear; Wildly that page she met, It was as though she hoped to hear That her child was living yet. " Ah, master mine," the sad page said, " God smite th oft and sore ; Thy little daughter dear is dead !" He could not utter more. Fair Elinore raised one bitter wail, And she swoon'd upon the ground ; Prince Edward's face grew somewhat pale, But he did not breathe a sound. And mute he stood for a moment's space, Then slow and calmly spake, " Bear ye the princess from the place, Her gentle heart will break ; Tend her with care, and comfort her." Then to the king said he, " My lord, I grieve thy festal eve Should thus be marr'd for me." Oh, greatly marvell'd Sicily's lord His stately air to see ; He dared not speak one pitying word, But he watch'd him reverently. Silent were all in the royal hall ; Not a breath was heard, until A footstep fell like death's slow knell, And every heart stood still. DEATH OF KTNG HENRY III. 67 A squire kneel' d lowly on the floor, And he spake in humble tone, " Henry of England breathes no more ; Thine are the crown and throne." A sudden change o'er the prince's brow Like a cloud's swift shadow swept ; The strength of his heart forsook him now — He hid his face and wept. Oh, greatly marveil'd Sicily's king When the hero's tears he saw ; From a warrior-soul those tears did spring, And the king stood mute with awe ; But at last he spake : u O valorous prince, llight strangely hast thou done; Thou didst shed no tear for thy daughter dear! Thou weepedst not for thy son ! But now 7 thine aged sire is dead, Like a worn-out pilgrim sleeping, Though he leaves a crown for thy royal head, Thou like a child art weeping !" His noble face did Prince Edward raise, And his tears became him now, Like dew r -drops sheen on the laurel green When it binds a conqueror's brow. " Ah, king," he said, u when infants die, We mourn but for a day ; For God can restore as many more, Lovely and loved as they 3 But when a noble father dies, Our tears pour forth like rain ; Once from high Heaven is a father given, Once — and, oh, never again !" g2 68 LAYS AND BALLADS. Reign of Edward II., 1307-1327. &lje tournament. The churches twelve of Wallingford, A stately sight they were, When gleaming shields were hanging From every column fair ; For a mile around the city Earth's altered face was bright With banner and pavilion, With steed, and squire, and knight. For King Edward holds a tournament ; His heralds, far and near, Have borne the joyous message To baron, prince, and peer. They are coming in by thousands ; Woe to that warrior's fame Whose knightly shield its place must yield At the wand's light touch of shame ! The airs of heaven were wearied, Long ere that morning shone, With the sounds of clashing armour And the horn's exulting tone ; Through many a woodland avenue, Up many a grassy slope, Came troops of glittering horsemen, All gay with knightly hope. THE TOURNAMENT. 69 And serfs forsake their labour. And ladies leave their bowers ; They gather like the bees in June Round incense-breathing flowers. The lists are fairly ordered, And every heart beats high When the clarion's thrilling summons Tells that the hour is nigh. They have left each gay pavilion, They are moving o'er the plain ; There rides Sir Piers de Gaveston, Chief of a king-like train : By his proud and stately bearing, By his fair and rich array, Ye might take him for a monarch Upon his crowning day ; But like to plants that wither In the hot sirocco's path, So every face he passes Grows pale with sudden wrath. Ah, little seest thou, Gaveston, With thy bright and reckless eye, The doom that is before thee, And the death that thou must die ! Yet the scowling gloom of Pembroke, And Warwick's haughty glance, The mutter'cl curse of Arundel, And Evreux' look askance, The sullen frown of Lancaster, And Warren's wrathful mien, The bright and angry blushes On the fair cheeks of the queen ; 70 LAYS AND BALLADS. Her eye's disdainful beauty As she pass'd the foe she scorn'd — These might have warned that boaster : He was not to be warn'd ! And there rode hapless Edward, A graceful prince and nay ; But weakness in his ready laugh And his eye's uncertain ray ; Who dream'd, that saw his maiden-grasp On his palfrey's broider'd reins, That the blood of the old Plantagenets Was running in his veins! And there rode fair Queen Isabelle, A girl scarce fifteen years ; Like a swan on a breezeless river, Her snowy neck she rears ; Her beauty's proud magnificence Was matchless in the world, But ah ! beneath its sweet rose-wreath Lay the dread serpent curl'd. Her smile of treacherous softness, Her dark and glittering eye, Were like a slumbering tempest In the depths of a tropic sky. On moved the gay procession, And many a dame did lead. By the shining rein of a silver chain, Her warrior's pacing steed ; Each mantle gemm'd floats gaily^ Each courser stamps and fumes, 'Tis a heaving sea, whose billows free Are banners and dancing plumes. THE TOUKNAMENT. 71 Oh, for the tongue of a minstrel To tell in lightning words The deeds of that glorious tournament, The fame of those flashing swords ! How a fair and a queenly circle Beheld the knights engage, Like clear stars watching stedfastly The foaming ocean's rage ; And amid those brows of beauty Lofty and calm arose The head of some ancient hero Wearing its crown of snows ; 'Twas a thrilling sight to witness Each worn-out warrior's gaze On a strife where he must not mingle, On the deeds of his younger days. Like walls of glittering armour At first the champions stand, As the Red Sea stood when its raging flood Was cleft by God's own hand. And the crash of their strong ranks charging Arose when they met on the plain, Like the roar of those bursting waters Hushing together again. Hark, how the watchful heralds The shouts of their onset gave, " Charge, warriors ! Death to horses ! Fame to the sons of the brave !" Those shouts are rising louder At every well-aim' d blow, Or whenever a lance is shiver'd Fairly on breast or brow. 72 LAYS AND BALLADS. The air is full of battle, It is full of the trumpets' sound, Of the tramp of clashing horses, And the cries of the crowd around ; The earth is strown with splendour, It is strown with fair plumes torn, With glove, and scarf, and streamer, For the love of ladies worn ; But each maiden watch'd her champion, And oft her white hands sent Fresh gifts for every token That was lost in the tournament. Oh ! with such eyes above them, Such voices to cheer the strife, No marvel those warriors tilted Like men who are tilting for life ! But at length the sports are over ! Changed was the joyous scene, When many a knight lay gasping, Unhorsed upon the green ; Their squires are near to raise them, They bear them soft and slow, And loving eyes all mournful Attend them as they go. Not oft was life in danger ; Yet might those sweet eyes grieve That in their sight their own true knight Should not the wreath receive. Now shout ye for the victor ! The warrior to whose sword Lady, and prince, and herald The prize of fame award ! THE TOURNAMENT. 73 Doubt not his heart is thrilling Thus on the turf to kneel, While lovely hands unloose the bands That clasp his helm of steel ! While every lip is busy With the honour of his name, And with glowing cheeks each good knight speaks The story of his fame ! Dear are thy gifts, O glory ! Dear is thy crown unstahVd, When the true heart bears witness That it was nobly gain'd I Room for the queen ! she cometh To grace the conqueror now, With a chaplet of green laurel She stoops to wreath his brow ! A kiss — a gem — a garland — These hath his good lance won, And the king's own lips give honour To the deeds that he hath done. With dance, and song, and banquet, The festive day shall close, Till, wearied out with pleasure, The warriors seek repose. Yet lasts the giddy revel Till the shining east grows pale,— Ah, what a bright beginning For such a darksome tale ! Even then the storm had gathered Which should burst in coming years, For the reign of the second Edward Was a reten of blood and tears ! 74 LAYS AND BALLADS. Reign of Edward III., 132M377. of Ittucj Sofjn of JFrance. " In mine own land the sun shines bright, The morning breeze blows fair ; I must not look upon that light, I must not feel that air. The chain is heavy on my heart, Although my limbs are free : A bitter, bitter loss thou art, O precious liberty !" It was King John lamented thus, With many a mournful word ; But gentle, kind, and chivalrous, Was the heart of him who heard : The Black Prince came — he loved to bring Comfort and sweet relief, So he spake softly to the king, And strove to soothe his grief. " Now cheer thee, noble friend I" he said ; " Right bravely diclst thou fight ; Thine honour is untarnished ; Thou art a stainless knight. That man should ne'er desponding be Who winneth fame in strife ; 'Tis a better thing than liberty, A better thing than life. I grant thee one full year," he said ; " For a year thou shalt be free : Go back to France, and there persuade Thy lords to ransom thee. LAYS AND BALLADS. But if thy ransom they refuse, And do not heed thy pain, Our realm must not its captive lose — Thou must return again. So pledge me now thy royal word, And pledge it solemnly, That thou, the captive of my sword, Wilt faithful be to me." The king lie pledged his royal faith — He pledged it gladsomely ; He promised to be true till death : Of joyous heart was he. Then did those generous foes embrace Closely as brethren might, — " Farewell, and God be with your grace ;"- " Farewell, thou peerless knight." The wind was fair, the sea was blue, The sky without a speck, When the good ship o'er the waters flew, With King John upon its deck. With eager hope his heart beat high When he sprang on his own dear shore ; But sad and downcast was his eye Ere one brief month was o'er. Glad were the lords of lovely France When they beheld their king ; But, oh ! how alter'd was their glance, When he spoke of ransoming ! They told of wasted revenues, Of fortunes waxing low ; And when their words did not refuse, Their looks said plainly, " No." CAPTIVITY OF KING JOHN OF FRANCE. Sore grew the heart of that good king, As closed the winter drear : And when the rose proclaimed the spring, He haiPd it with a tear. For the year was gliding fast away, And gold he could not gain, And honour summon' d him to pay His freedom back again. And now the summer-noon is bright, The warm breeze woos the scent From thousand roses red and white — The year is fully spent ! " Paris, farewell, thou stately town ! Farewell, my woods and plains ! Farewell, my kingdom and my crown ! And welcome, English chains ! Trim, trim the bark, and hoist the sail, And bid my train advance, I have found that loyal faith may fail — I leave thee, thankless France. ' ? These bitter words spake good King John ; But his liegemen counsel gave : " What recks it that the year is gone ? There yet is time to save. Thou standest yet on thine own good land, Forget thy plighted word, — Remain ! and to thy foe's demand We'll answer with the sword." But the good King John spake firm and bold ; And oh ! his words should be 80 LAYS AND BALLADS. Graven in characters of gold On each heart's memory : " Were truth disowned by all mankind, A scorned and banished tiling, A resting-place it still should find In the breast of every king." Again the good ship cleaves the sea Before a favouring air, But it beareth to captivity, And not to freedom fair. Yet when King John set foot on land, Sad lie could scarcely be, For the Black Prince took him by the hand, And welcomed him courteously. To Savoy Castle he was brought, With fair and royal state: Full many a squire, in rich attire, Did on his pleasure wait. They did not as a prisoner hold That noble king and true, But as dear guest, whose high behest ; Twas honour and joy to do. Of treaty and of ransom then The prince and he had speech ; Like friends and fellow-countrymen, Great was the love of each ; No angry thought — no gesture proud, Not a hasty word they spoke, But a brotherhood of heart they vowed, And its bond they never broke. CAPTIVITY OF KING JOHN OF FRANCE. 81 In Savoy Castle died King John — They buried him royally ; And grief through all the land is gone That such a knight should die. And the prince was wont to say this thing Whene'er his name was spoken, — " He was a warrior and a king Whose word was never broken." 82 LAYS AND BALLADS. $$e 3ft i3uv$rtev3 of (Salate, The burghers six of Calais, True were they and brave ; To save their fellow-townsmen Their lives they freely gave. Will ye hear their story ? Come listen to my lay, I will tell ye of King Edward, The gallant and the gay. Edward the Third of England, A mighty prince was he ; To win the town of Calais He hath cross'd the sea, With all his gallant nobles, And all his soldiers brave, — They were a stately party To ride upon the wave ! Around the walls of Calais They waited many a day, Till the king's right royal spirit Grew weary of delay : His eagerness avail' d notj The city still held out : The king grew very angry, But still the walls were stout. The fury of a monarch A stone wall cannot rend, As little is it able A lofty heart to bend ; THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 83 But a mightier than King Edward AssaiPd those stedfast men, — The slow strong hand of Famine .Was closing on them then. The feeble ones grew feebler, The mighty ones grew weak ; Dim was each eye, though dauntless, And pale was every cheek : But round about the city That ruthless army stayed, So to their fainting hunger No food might be conveyed. The governor of Calais, 1 A stalwart knight was he, For his king and for his country He had fought right valiantly ; But he found his valour useless, And he saw his soldiers die, So he came before the English, And spake with dignity : " What terms, what terms, King Edward, What terms wilt thou accord, If I yield this goodly city To own thee for its lord ?" King Edward gave him answer,— His wrath was very hot, — " Ye rebel hounds of Calais, Your crimes I pardon not. 1 Sir John de Vienne, a knight of great valour, was then governor of Calais. 84 LAYS AND BALLADS. Six of your richest burghers As captives I demand; On every neck a. halter, A chain on every hand ; And when their lives have answered For this their city's crime, Then will I think of mercy, — Till then, it is not time. 7 ' The governor was silent, His heart was full of pain ; Then spake Sir Walter Manny, Chief of the monarch's train : " The fittest time for mercy, My liege, is ever — now ; Oh, turn away thine anger ! Oh, do not knit thy brow ! Call back thy words, King Edward, Call back what thou hast said, For thou canst not call the spirit Back to the gallant dead." " Now hold thy peace, Sir Walter," The monarch sternly cried ; " I will not be entreated, I will not be defied ! Be silent, all my nobles : And thou, Sir John de Vienne, Come with six wealthy burghers, Or come thou not again V 9 The king he spake so fiercely That no one dared reply ; Sir John went back to Calais Slowly and mournfully. THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 85 The warriors and the burghers He summoned to his hall, And he told King Edward's pleasure, Full sadly, to them all : " My friends and fellow-townsmen, Ye hear the tyrant's will ; We had better die together, And keep our city still !" There was silence for a moment, — They were feeble, they were few, But one spirit was among them, Which nothing could subdue ; Out cried a generous burgher : " Oh, never be it said That the loyal hearts of Calais To die could be afraid ! First of the destined captives I name myself for death, And in my Saviour's mercy Undoubting is my faith." The name of this true hero Ye should keep with reverent care ; Let it never be forgotten ! — It was Eustace de St. Pierre. Like a watchfire lit at midnight — Strike but a single spark, And the eager flame spreads quickly Where all before was dark ; So were their spirits kindled By the word of bold St. Pierre, His faith and his devotion Gave strength to their despair. 80 LAYS AND BALLADS. Five other noble merchant! Their names that instant gave, To join with generous Eustace Their countrymen to save ■ Their comrades wept around them Tears for such parting meet ; And they led those willing capti • To stern King Edward'l feet They came in brave obedience To Edward't fierce command; On every neck a halter, A chain on every hand. Now when the king beheld them, Right fiery grew his eye, — c; Strike off their head-!'' he thundered ; u Each man of them shall die V But forth stepped Queen Philippe, 1 The gentle, good, and fair ; She kneeled before King Edward, And thus she spake her prayer : (It was a sight full touching That honoured queen to Before the knights and nobles, Low kneeling on her knee.) " My loving lord and husband," — ; Twas thus the fair queen spake, — " Grant me these generous captive-, Oh, spare them for my sake ! I am thy true companion ; I crossed the stormy sea, 1 Philippa of Hainault, the fair and virtuous wife of Edward III. THE SIX BURGHERS OF CALAIS. 87 A weak and fearful woman, And all for love of thee. I have been faithful to thee Through all our wedded life, Nor didst thou ever find me A disobedient wife ; Then do not thou repulse me In this my first request ; Grant me their lives, I pray thee, — In nought have they transgress' d." The king lookM long upon her : " I would thou wert not here ! Yet I refuse thee nothing, Because thou art so dear." Up sprang that joyous lady, And eagerly she bade That they should loose the fetters Upon those captives laid. From round their necks she loosened The cruel halter's band 5 To each a golden noble She gave with her own hand ; She bade them be conducted Back to their native place, — To friends, and wives, and children, To the joy of their embrace. Oh, who shall paint their meeting ! Oh, who shall speak their bliss ! Too weak for aught so mighty The power of language is. 88 LAYS AND BALLADS. How did the fond eyes brighten Around each quiet hearth ! The peace of such deep rapture Is seldom given to earth. Oh, out then spake King Edward : n How different are our parts ! I may win fair cities, But my queen she winneth hearts. God bless thee, sweet Philippa ; And mayst thou ever be As dear to all the English As now thou art to me ! ,; THE LITTLE QUEEN. 89 Reign of Richard II., 1377-1399. ^Jje little . LAYS AND BALLADS. PART SECOND. £f)e 2Lag of Ittng fames & in fjfe ©aptibitj. [James the First was the second son of King Robert III., and be- came 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 impri- soned 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 Somer- set, 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 governjflent of his un- principled uncle and yet move 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 nie Breaking death's dread lethargy. 98 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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. 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. Nay, it is not thus ! I have Empire o'er a world within ; Lo, my kingly wand I wave, Lo, the shadowy scenes begin ! Veiled 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 ! 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 ! KING JAMES I. IN HIS CAPTIVITY. 99 Ah, my country ! Prostrate now, Crownless, comfortless, forlorn, Like a noble stag brought low, Striving, sinking, bleeding, torn ; All thine ancient honour dies, In the dust thy glory lies ! Mine to stanch 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. 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 ! 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. 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 ! K 100 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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. 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 ! 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. 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! DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 101 £fje Dtstt of SantM 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! 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. 102 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 ! Silent around, 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 ! 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 ? DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 103 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 impelPd, 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 Do u gins 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 ! K 2 104 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 onward if ye dare !" Without a sound or start, Breathless she stood — the first fell stroke That fragile barrier erush'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 chilPd 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 dishevelPd 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 ! DEATH OF KING JAMES I. 105 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 terrific 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 redeemed 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 ! 106 LAYS AND HALL ADS. Sije lai? of Sir BRfllfam WltAUtt. 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. land most lovely and beloved, — Whether in morn's bright hue*, 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, — 1 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 unshamed 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 S ted fast and sleepless as a star, Watching his fatherland ; SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. Strong must his will be, and serene, His spirit jmre 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. 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 hi^h 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 honoured thrice ! — ■ God, countrymen, and fatherland, Accept the sacrifice ! 107 108 LAYS AND BALLADS. Brute anfcr 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. Through hilly Caledonia Woe spread eth 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, BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 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. 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, There passed before his eyes, Like a slow and stately pageant, His life's long memories. 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, 109 * 110 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 ! 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 tracked 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, BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 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 breathy Close in a narrower circle Around the couch of death. Ill " 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 s ted fast 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, 112 LAYS AND HALL ADS. And boar it safely for my sake To holy Palestine : Well pleased nay heart shall tarry In thy fair company ; For it was wont, while yet in life, Ever to dwell with thee.* 1 The dying king was silent; And down the Douglas kneeled — x\ 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 blight expectancy ; And then, with sudden effort, Somewhat his arms he raised, BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 113 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 For their last, long repose ; And backwards from the couch they drew Softly 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. 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 : ===! 114 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 fraud fid 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. And there he laid upon his breast The heart of the mighty dead, — Sign that his monarch's last behest Should be accomplished. That solemn hour, that aw r ful scene, Bare witness to his vow ; And soon the waves of ocean green Danced round his daring prow\ Lord James hath landed in fair Castile, — Where, waiting by the sea, BRUCE AND DOUGLAS, 115 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 !" 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. " 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 strengthened Thus to protect my face." 110 LAYS AND BALLADS. But the clarion's thrilling note was heard, — And, loosing each liis 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 thn 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. Lord Douglas looked on the crescent proud, And his Christian heart beat hisrh : o " Charge, countrymen !" he shouted loud ; K 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 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 fierce and fearful tiling ! BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. 117 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. 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 !" 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 ! 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 ! 118 LAYS AND BALLADS. A valiant knight the casket bore : And for that honoured part, His scutcheon wore fop 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 si 1 ado. 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 ! GRIZZEL HUME. 119 ©rfoel Jjunte. [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, con- cealed himself in a vault in the churchyard of Polwarth, and remained there till his enemies had given up seeking for him in that neighbour- hood. 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 mid- night, 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 Grand- father : 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. With eyes of hope, and peace, and truth,- Yiolets 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! LAYS AND I Shi By fi hill, and tree, _ hi as the n DC can hear nor Before her home at And lifts the latch .Ming hands. " night is cUu 'J' ho a oom (i I heard the startled watchdog 9 ! bark As I is And hurried on, in he Should rotue lomc lurking 11 A:. js the churchyard drear, K in chilly drea v. mother, wherefore should I The mute and peaceful dead ? I only thought, how calm they sleep I neither feel, nor fear, n u Did not thy we The path was dark and I 14 :h me on my H And soi mg; 1 i er thought the stars did shed racious bless::iir cm my head.'' i i*0 cc Ah, motht ice H i - l p ; He bade me labour still to make TL\ " f: hi I wept — T could not speak — hair, and ami: And kissed me on the cr. And said I bravely did, and well, To >k ; d he paJ .:a«wW pale, :irm and blithe . Like one whose heart could, r. Whose spirit n And calm and Of things whereat my heart mast break, said that he might die ; But he mamma* d Monmouth r a name, and tl. A tear was in And he brake off, as thou. That so urn . speak or . He bade me pray at morn aaci Tha' Calmly to die, but never . The right, nor love the wrc. I pray, — sweet mother, join me dm Q . pre my father hack to ml" Moth .1 knelt mutely the?' _rit that angels love ; The inccn ".earful pr a le to the he And softer sleep, and hope Came to their trouble 122 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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. 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. 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; How that bold heart and childlike form Night after night would brave The blast, the darkness, and the storm, To seek his lonely cave — Pie paused, to shew with grateful pride The blushing matron at his side. FRANCIS I. AT LIBERTY. 123 jFraiuta tfje jFtrst at Itbevti?, AFTER THAT SHAMEFUL IMPRISONMENT WHICH WAS THE RESULT OF HIS DEFEAT AT TAVIA. 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 ! 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 Nov/ to avenge my 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 plains 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 124 LAYS AND BALLADS. High thoughts and generous sympathies, Which long have slept apart. It is the voice of Franco Which breathes upon me now ; I will open my breast to thy glad advanoe,- Play lightly on my brow ! I am free ! I am free ! I am free ! I may give my lull heart way ; Its fire represt hath scorch' d my In-east, It pants for the open day. I am free ! I juii 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 1 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 ! THE BATTLE OF ANTIOCH. 125 frije Battle of atatforfj. [The legend on which this ballad is founded is narrated iu Mr. James's Life of Richard Cceur 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. 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. Lo, the gates are flung wide, and the Christian host comes, Their plumes waving time to the roll of their drums ; All pale was each cheek, and all 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. They met as the hurricane meeteth the storm When the fiend of the tempest unveils his dark form, And the lightnings are marshalPd in heaven's high field,— Woe, woe for the Christians ! they waver, they yield ! 126 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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. Full dark was the shadow which then overspread The face of their leader, as groaning he said, Upst re tching his arms to the cold, changeless 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 prmtless 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. 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 Saracen. That charge who withstandeth ? They came like the wind, And they went as they came — but what left they be- hind? In shame and in shrinking, in wounds and in loss, The Crescent hath fled from the might of the Cross ! THE BATTLE OF ANTIOCH. 127 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'er- thrown. For God hath been speedy to succour His own \ h m 2 128 LAYS AND BALLADS. Z\)t Sratij of tf>c CCaptal tic Bud;. [The Captal de liuch was truly a knight tana peur el sans reproche. That tierce and savage insurrection of the populace, called the Jacquerie, was put clown by his valour and resolution, almost unassisted. He was the friend and brother in anus of the Black Prince, whose death was communicated to him while languishing in a French prison. On hearing the mournful tidings he refuted 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. No change had passed 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. 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, DEATH OP THE CAPTAL DE BUCH. 129 " 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 7 , They could not choose but turn aside Their gaze in very awe : What years of anguish failed to do, At once that instant wrought, The heart which nothing could subdue Was broken — by a thought! His mailless hands a while he prest Over his aching eyes, Until the tumult of his breast Broke 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 warlike 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 ! 130 LAYS AND BALLADS. With nought to cheer thy wasting pain Save thine unconquercd 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 ; Tor me — my pilgrimage is done, My noon of life is grey, Mine eyes have seen their guiding sun Go down while it was day I" lie 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 turned him from the oppressive light- Calmly and silently As sets a star in cloudless night, So did the hero die ! CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. 131 Z\)t @Ijoue of tlje Cfjvfetian heroes. [See Addison's History of the Knights Templars.] 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. 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. 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 ! And lo ! it is the very hour When on their far, their Christian shore, 132 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 ! And some they frown, and some 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!" 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. 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 ? CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. 133 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. Refuse — yon scimiters are keen — A stern and speedy death is near V*. 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 ! So, one by one, they kneeled and died, That band of heroes and of saints, And the deep, dark 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, 134 LAYS AND BALLADS. And the twilight air was full of prayer, But not of weak complaint*. 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. 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, u Remember," they cried, " how the Templars died, And the true knights of St. John !" THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 185 Sije iSmfjvnt of $ovt SHopal. [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 Mere Angelique, 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 num- ber, 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 lhan 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. Upon a kneeling crowd That silver radiance shone, With hearts upraised and faces bow'd At God's eternal throne ; N 13G LAYS AND BALLADS. And strange was it to see, As ye passed 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. But a holy band they were, — One Lord, one faith, oik; 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. Does not that governed eye Full many a story tell THE BRETHREN OF TORT ROYAL. 137 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. 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 overspread 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. 138 LAWS AND BALLADS. " Up, up !" lie 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 ! 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! And our hands are now unbound, And we all are knights once more, And the old forgotten cry shall sound, c God and De Sericour !' " Their hearts took uj> that cry ; And, like a lion's roar, The long aisles echo thunderingly, " God and De Sericour V* And the anthem died away, And the sounds of prayer were lost : The monks and the beadsmen, where are they ?- Ye see an armed host ! An armed host ye see ; For, swift as light or thought, Some of its ancient panoply Each eager hand hath caught. THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 139 Lances were glimmering then, And faded banners streaming, And on the brows of aged men Were helmets faintly gleaming, 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 Ere rose the morning 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 ! 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. n2 140 LAVS and BALL A l>>. Mutely they hear the word, And mutely all obey ; Cuirass, and lance, and helm, and sword, At once arc flung away ; And the noon-tide sun Bhines 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 en, As if they ne'er had ceased, And the organ with its statel\ tone Gave answer to the priest. AYho 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 ! And penitence resumes J Tei- Intermitted sway, And swift forget fulness entombs The deeds of that bright day. Ah, no ! The thought can be From the deep heart banish'd never f 'Twas the captive's glimpse of liberty, Seen once and lost for ever ! THE BRETHREN OF PORT ROYAL. 141 Scorn we a heart like his. At God's own footstool laid ? Forget not that of stuff like this Martyrs and saints were made ! Bat our words are bold and free, We judge, decide, condemn — Ah, God forgive us ! — what are ice That we should sentence them ? 142 LAYS AND BALLADS. OjcToU) of Cortrs. Word wag 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. Up rose in wrath that leader brave. And Bware 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 staved 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 w T ind blow r s fair for Mexico, 'Wooing each idle bark. THE VOW OF CORTES* 143 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. 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! 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 !" Merrily rustled each flapping sail Unfurling as it met The soft 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 Ere the sky grew 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!" 144 LAYS AND BALLADS. The heavens grew blacker aa be spoke, And their course they could not keep Save for the flashes blue that broke 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 I" 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 laces 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 w r as 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 I THE VOW OF CORTES. 145 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. A boat, a boat from Yucatan ! It sprang before the wind ; And thence there stepp'd a \vhite-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. 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. "Come I to Christian men V 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 ! 140 LAYS AND BALLADS. My brethren were around me slain, And I was spared alone ; But I have suffer'd want and [HUB, 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 eartli 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. Strangely and long did Cortes gaze Into that stranger's eyes; They had been friends in earlier days, And now his lips half doubting frame A dear but unfamiliar name, — Linked to long memories ! 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. THE VOW OF CORTES. 147 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 ! 148 LAYS AND BALLADS. &f)c (^nrmtrs. [The story on which the following ballad is founded is related in Mrs. Jameson's " Lives of Female Sovereigns.'! On, fair was Countess Isadoure, The Ladye of Leon, 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, lie straight spake out: u 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 espied." THE ENEMIES. 149 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." 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." Then joyful was that ladye bright With measureless content, And forth to meet the coming knight In eager haste she w T ent. " 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 150 LAYS AND BALLADS. Till yonder knight shall here alight 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 lady saw his brow of awe, And mark'd his greeting word, Then veiFd 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. " Ah, ladye," (thus the stranger said,) " 111 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 ENEMIES. 151 The Moor hath sworn, ere break of morn 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, Ere life's last pang were o'er" — Oh, cease thy tale, thou warrior pale ! The lad ye bears no more ! 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 Leon there is not one But bears a heavy heart. 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. o2 152 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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. 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; — While, on its sides so high, The clattering sound of the shaken steel Gave faint but stern reply ! Was that the sound of lance or sword 'Gainst the mailed 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 murmuring 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, THE ENEMIES. 153 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." 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 I" 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 cadence wild of that echoing 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. 154 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 ! Her husband's name! — unwelcome sound In proud Medina's cars : 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 9 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 ! Up rose that ladye 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 ! Pent in Alhama's fort he lies, Bereft of every hope ; THE ENEMIES. 155 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 V 3 " 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 Coasts the name of knight, Forward and follow me !" He spake, and shook his flashing sword, Then darted from the festal board. Him followed Guzman of Mind ore With words of counsel wise : u 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 spoke that generous lord, " He is mine enemy V And never another word spoke he, But on his steed he sprang ; And forth he rode right joyously, As though for his wedding revelry The merry church -bells rang : 156 LAYS AND BALLADS. 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 warlike fury clashing, Was a stirring sound, like the wild rebound Ofwayefl o'er 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 ! Oh, brightly on Albania's fort The morning sun was beaming, Where many a chief of lordly port Stood in his armour 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 ; THE ENEMIES. 157 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 ! 158 LAYS AND BALLADS. (fiustabus an& ©fjristmr. [Gustavus Adolphus sacrificed his passion for the beautiful Chris- tine to the welfare of his country ; but that the feeling was subdued, not forgotten, seems to be proved (if, indeed, it require proof) by the touching circumstance of his giving her name to his first-born daugh- ter.] The lengthening shades of rook and steep Along the level waters creep, And yonder mountain's crest of snows Transparent in the sunset grows ; Ere yet Night's gradual hand unroll The wonders of her starry scroll — Ere yet the waves that blush and burn To lines of liquid moonlight turn, — Upon that lone and silent shore The lovers meet — to meet no more. Full strangely did the blended light Of parting day and coming night Shine on each pallid face, to shew How joy was passing into woe : Even then the hero's lofty will Was master of his anguish still ; Calmly — as one who uttereth The last few solemn words of death — He speaks ; with drooping head she hears, And still makes answer by her tears. " Christine, it is not ours to part Plucking fond memories from the heart, Nor feebly o'er our griefs to brood In luxury of solitude ; GUSTAYUS AND CHRISTINE. 159 We go, in patience and in prayer Our daily cross apart to bear ; Yet, through the struggle and the strife, The lengthened bitterness of life, My soul's unfailing balm shall be, The thought of all thou wast to me. Of all thou shalt be ! To my dreams The past for ever present seems. Oh, could that haj)py magic last, And make the present seem the past I In vain ! They shine no more for me, Those eyes of readiest sympathy, Whose tears could turn my grief to bliss, And soften every pang — save this." He paused ; his glance, resolved and proud, Betrayed a dimness and a cloud. Kneeling, she hid her face, and strove To frame the words, " Forget me, love !" Her trembling hands he clasped : fC Oh, cease ! Dream not forget fulness were peace ; Years shall not shadow from mine eyes One of their bright, sad memories ! Still let my heart, though wrung and riven, Reflect how nobly it was given ; Still guard its secrets as a shrine Worthy of thee— and only thine. But thou, Christine ? I dare not gaze On the slow current of thy days ; No breeze to stir, no beam to warm, Remote from sunshine as from storm, p ICO LAYS AND BALLADS. How will that heart, fresh, bounding, young, By grief's remorseless clasp be wrung ! Oh, weeping much, and suffering long, Patient in woe, in weakness strong, Thou goest a captive's life to lead, And death were liberty indeed ! God arm thee with endurance! Yet Thou mayst do all things but forget. Thy pure and lonely love must be Firm to sustain itself and thee — Shining like yonder planet's light, Which brightens with the deepening night; And still, whene'er the voice of fame Breathes proudly my remembered name, Think — while thou weepest — think, * In this Nor small nor slight my portion is*' Farewell ! Oh, vainest word that e'er Fell from the weakness of despair ! Nor seas, nor worlds, nor fates have power To sever hearts for one brief hour/ 1 Grief yields to love ; her streaming eyes She lifts, and with a smile replies. * * * * * * The sea hath lost its edge of gold, The mountain-crest gleams white and cold, The silver moon shines pale on one Who kneels and weeps — he is alone ! NOTES. In these Notes I do not attempt to give anything like a narrative of events connected with the subjects of the Ballads, but simply to ex- plain, and that as briefly as possible, such points as may be supposed to require elucidation for my younger readers, in the hope that they may be induced to drink deeply for themselves of the fountains which they are here but invited to taste, CONQUEST OF ENGLAND. P. 1. For the details of this, and of many other Ballads, I am indebted to Miss Strickland's valuable and interesting Lives of the Queens of England, to which I beg, once for all. to acknowledge my frequent obligations. " But Saxon Harold " S>c. I take this opportunity of correcting a blunder, noticed by a critic in Bentleys Miscellany. The "right of a sovereign to name his succes- sor," though acknowledged even in the days of Queen Bess, never ex- tended so far as to enable him to will away his kingdom to a foreigner. Nevertheless, we cannot acquit Harold of bad faith in swearing allegiance to "William. I am quite aware that the historical knowledge displayed in these pages is neither profound nor extensive ; but I am anxious that it should be correct ; and shall therefore feel obliged to those who may point out errors or inaccuracies. " And their spears shone bright as the stars of nighty ad policy to remind my readers of Byron's exquisite line — " And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea;" but I suppose that, were 1 to omit such a reference, I should incur the charge of plagiarism. 162 LAYS AND BALLADS. " Til the Duchess Matilda," 8,c. Matilda, daughter to Baldwin V., Burnamed the Gentle Earl of Flan- ders. She was married to William the Conqueror in the year 1052. She v. as a woman of remarkable beauty, great talents, and strong afTec- tions; and the only serious stain upon her character is the unworthy vengeance which she took against Urihtric Meaw, a Saxon nohle, to whom she was attached, and by whom she was slighted in early youth. The warm affection between herself and the Conqueror subsisted unim- paired throughout the whole of their wedded life; and history offers us few tales of deeper pathos than that of the rebellion of her first-bom, Robert — her own bitter struggles between a mother's love and a wife's duty — the touching and passionate reproaches of the injured husband and father — and eventually the death of the heart-broken Matilda, worn out by hopeless sorrow ; a fitting end for this domestic tragedy. The reader is again referred to Miss Strickland's Lives >>f the Queens of England. THE MEW FOREST. P. 10. 11 It was the ruthless Conqueror." lam not sorry for this opportunity of exhibiting the darker side of the character of William I., lest it should be supposed by any that I wished to hold him up as a specimen of knightly virtues. His claims to such a character are destroyed by the recklessness and fierceness of his tyranny. That he was sensible, however, of his offences against the re- quirements of that spirit of chivalry, which, in many instances, it was his pride to obey, is sufficiently shewn by his confessions on his death- bed. He expressed the bitterest remorse for his acts of cruelty and oppression, especially for the desolation of that portion of Hampshire called the New Forest ; ordered large sums to be distributed to the poor, and applied to the erection of churches; set at liberty all Saxons whom he had retained in imprisonment; and finally, speaking of the inherit- ance of the crown of England, declared " that he had so misused that fair and beautiful land, that he dared not appoint a successor to it, but left the disposal of that matter in the hands of God." NOTES. 163 THE KNIGHTING OF COUNT GEOFFREY OF ANJOU. P. 14. " That name Count Geoffrey did first assume" Such is the account of the origin of the name Plantagenet given by French chroniclers. It is, however, a matter of dispute whether the honour belongs to Count Geoffrey. " The Empress Matilda," 8,-c. She was the daughter of Henry I. by his wife Matilda of Scotland, and was espoused at the early age of five years to Henry V., emperor of Germany, then forty years old. She was the first female claimant to the sovereignty of England ; and from her, according to Miss Strickland, the title of our present gracious Queen is derived. Left a widow in 1125, she was betrothed to Count Geoffrey of Anjou two years afterwards ; but their marriage proved most unhappy, having been concluded against her will by the authority of her father. She was haughty, ambitious, and impe- tuous, though not destitute of talents nor of the warmth of heart which is generally supposed to accompany heat of temper. The following reign, which historians have agreed to call that of Stephen, was almost entirely occupied by a struggle for the crown between that prince and the Empress Matilda, whose son, Henry II., finally succeeded to the throne: thus virtually proving the validity of his mother's claims, though in the sin- gular contract between himself and Stephen he is said to be adopted " as son and successor to that prince by hereditary right." " Bear thou this blow," 8,-c. Such were the words which frequently accompanied the accolade, or stroke on the shoulder, by which knighthood was conferred. It was cus- tomary at the conclusion of the ceremony for the new-made knight, or novice, as he was called, to mount his horse, and shew himself in the streets of the city, amid the shouts of the populace and acclamations of the heralds. " Two cuisses of steel I give to thee" It was impossible to include in the ballad an entire list of the gifts presented by King Henry as sponsor to Count Geoffrey, his godson in arms. Miss Strickland thus enumerates them: "A Spanish steed, a steel coat of mail, cuisses of double proof against sword and arrow, spurs of gold, a scutcheon adorned with golden lions, a helmet enriched with p2 164 LAYS AND BALLAD B. jewels, a lance of asli, with a Poictiers head, and a sword made by Gallard, the most famous of the ancient armourers." The oration here addressed by King Henry to the count is strictly in keeping with the customs of knighthood, which required that the novice should be solemnly instructed in his future duties either by the godfather who dubbed him knight, or the bishop whose oilier it was to consecrate his sword. Count (Jeotrrey was valiant and learned, handsome in person and re- fined in deportment. Altogether it would be difficult to select a more interesting hero of the ceremony of knighthood. THE ENGLISH MERCHANT AND THE SARACEN LADY. I'. 22. It was common for merchants to accompany the great body of Crusa- ders in their eastern progress, in the hope of opening a trade with the Syrians for many rich and valuable commodities unknown or difficult to be procured in Europe. 11 Their first-born son was a priest of power" I need scarcely say, that the famous Thomas a Hecket, archbishop of Canterbury in the reign of Henry II., is the personage to whom I here allude. With his name most of my readers must be familiar, although the many conflicting views taken of his character and history render it somewhat difficult to arrive at an accurate estimate of either. It would be idle to discuss such questions here, or to attempt to compress, within the narrow limits of the?e pages, a narrative so full of important and in- teresting events. For this I must refer my readers to the History of the Early English Church, by the Rev. Edward Churton — a work with which I am not myself acquainted, but which is said to contain a detailed and accurate account of the period to which I refer. EARL STRONGBOX. P. 30. The invasion of Ireland by Richard de Clare, earl of Pembroke, sur- named Strongbow, in the reign of Henry II., is rather a romance than a history. He was invited to enter the green isle by Dermot, one of its kings, who had been expelled by his fellows for repeated treachery. Strongbow fell in love with Eva, the beautiful daughter of this worth- NOTES. 165 less prince, married her, and afterwards rapidly conquered the island. The conquest was, of course, attended by many adventures, and inter- rupted by some reverses, among which I have selected one, which, seemed to me peculiarly interesting, as the theme of the present ballad. Fitzstephen was a pennyless knight, who, however, attained to such honour by his deeds of prowess during the invasion, that he was finally rewarded by the hand of the fair Easilia, sister to the Earl of Pembroke, to whom he had long been hopelessly attached. He is honourably distin- guished from his companions by his gentleness and generosity towards his vanquished foes. It is said that the harbour of Dublin was defended by two towers, respectively denominated Castle Hook and Castle Crook. When Earl Strongbow's fleet came in sight of shore, he pronounced the following oracular words, " We will take the city by Hook or by Crook ;" and this is supposed to be the origin of the proverbial expression of get- ting anything by hook or by crook. It must, however, be observed, that this explanation only substitutes one difficulty for another, as no satis- factory reason is suggested for the singular taste of the Irish in giving two such unaccountable names to their castles. THE CAPTIVITY OF CCEUR DE LION. P. 35. " The lord of France's lovely land." Philip Augustus, king of France, was one of the principal chiefs of the crusade. Many were the differences which arose between him and the impetuous Richard ; not unnaturally, lor their characters were as dissimilar as those respectively assumed by the leader of a forlorn hope and the contriver of a mine. In 1191 Philip abandoned the crusade, not without subjecting himself to a bitter reproach from his lion-hearted colleague, who might well be doubtful of receiving a welcome in France when he also was reluctantly compelled to return. " If Philip think," cried the King of England, "that a long residence here will be fatal to him, let him go, and cover his kingdom with shame !" — Mackintosh's Hist, of England. . "And Austria's dulce." Leopold, duke of Austria, whose character, as drawn by Sir W. Scott in his exquisite romance The Talisman, exactly corresponds with the brief description here given. He appears to have suffered from an in- cessant and feverish desire to maintain his own dignity, the claims of which were frequently overlooked or despised by the energetic and dis- 1G6 LAYS AND BALLADS. dainful Richard. At Asealon, where the duke lefused to work in the trendies wherein Coenr de Lion himself lahoured like a common soldier, it is said that the angry monarch spurned him with his foot. THE COMPLAINT OF CCKUR DE LION. P. 37. The lays composed hy this monarch form no unfavourable specimens of Provencal poetry. They are little known, but ought not to be omitted in our estimate of his character; and are in themseh < s a sullicient evi- dence of his vast superiority to the coarse and savag»« lttifux, to whom Strickland has compared him. " 'I'h ii land, Jerutalem. u This expression la intended to designate the Holy bend, of which Jerusalem was the capital. Coeur de Lion never obtained entrance within the walls of Jerusalem ; and when, to his bitter grief, and in spite of his prodigious efforts, the crusade was finally abandoned, and he was led to the summit of a neighbouring hill to take his first and last look of the Holy City, the high-souled warrior covered his face with his shield, to hide the tears which dee]) sorrow and bitter shame wrung from his lion-heart. " Specious Burgundy" The jealousy of Richard's superior prowess felt by the Duke of Bur- gundy is supposed to have been chiefly instrumental in procuring the final abandonment of the crusade. THE LAY OF THE FEARLESS DE COURCY. P. 48. Several members of the family of De Courcy accompanied Strongbow, earl of Pembroke, in his invasion of Ireland in 1169-70, and the indi- vidual who is the hero of our ballad conquered the province of Ulster. " The beauteous queen." The story of this lovely and high-spirited princess is full of deep and romantic interest. She was betrothed ere she had attained the age of NOTES. 167 fifteen years to Hugh of l int de la Marche, one of the most renowned warriors of Ms time. King John, captivated by her surpassing beauty, prevailed on her parents to break off the marriage, and espoused her himself. At first her childish spirit was dazzled and enchanted by the brilliancy of her destiny ; but she soon recoiled in horror from the baseness of its partner, and remembered with bitter repentance the gal- lant knight whom she had been induced to abandon. The indignant Lusignan adopted the cause of Prince Arthur; but was taken prisoner by John, and subjected to the vilest indignities: indeed, it is supposed that his life was only spared at the entreaty of the queen. Afterwards, when, having regained his liberty and proved himself a formidable an- tagonist, King John was desirous of obtaining him as an ally, the only condition of peace on which he insisted was, that the infant daughter of Isabella should be given to him in marriage. This request, which suffi- ciently attests the chivalrous devotion felt by Lusignan to the memory of r ';ted affections, was granted ; but when Isabella, being left a widow at thirty-four, proceeded to deliver her child into his charge, the force of their old and unforgotten attachment revived at once, and the name of the mother was speedily substituted in the bridal contract for that of her daughter. Xearly twenty years of misery and humiliation had not taught Isabella to bridle that ambitious spirit which had so misled her in her days of girlhood ; and she eventually died of a broken heart, caused by the shame and scorn brought upon her husband and his family by the rash and rebellious wars in which her pride and vehemence had involved them. 4i She was a queen." she said, when Lusignan was about to pay homage to his sovereign, --and she scorned to be the wife of any man who must kneel to another." THE PRINCE AND THE OUTLAW. P. 60. " I am Adam de Gordon." Adam de Gordon was one of the last adherents of Simon de Montfort, whose daring and temporarily successful rebellion rendered troublous a great part of the reign of Henry III. In those days, when vast forests covered many parts of England, it was easy for an outlawed rebel, who was too proud to submit to authority, to conceal himself and live for years in a character strangely compounded of the hermit and the rob- ber. 168 LAYS AND BALLADS. THE TOURNAMENT. P. fiS. In this ballad I have attempted to give an accurate description of the ceremonies attendant on a tournament j and I have selected the reign of Edward 1 1 . as belonging tO the period during which these war- like diversions were at their zenith in England. I cannot touch on this subject without mentioning how much and how frequently this little hook has been indebted to Mr. James's Interesting historical works. •• IVln )i gleaming shields were htsuglf^ Uciore the da> of tourney it was customary for such knights as in- tended to appear in the lists to suspend their shields in the churches or abbeys of the nearest city. Heralds were stationed in the cloisters to hear and answer .all questions concerning the knights. If am one, and especially if any female, had a complaint to prefer against one of the combatants, it was necessary to touch with a wand the shield of the of- fender: the herald then advanced, inquired into and registered the ac- cusation ; and if it was subsequently decided by the judge of the field to be well-founded, the culprit was forbidden to appear in the lists. If he was bold enough to venture to the field after this prohibition, lie was driven thence by the other knights, who struck him -with their trun- cheons, and chased him from the place with every mark of contempt. "Sir Piers de GavetUm." The unworthy and unfortunate favourite of Edward II. Reckless, insolent, and prodigal in the hour of his prosperity, he incurred the bitter hatred of the queen, whom he treated as a child, and the nobles, whom he slighted and ridiculed on every possible occasion. In 1312 he was beheaded, or rather murdered by his enemies, after the mockery of a trial, on the summit of Blacklow Hill, near Warwick. In memory of this outrage the place still bears the name of Gaveshead. a The scowling gloom of Pembroke.' 1 In this stanza the names of those nobles who afterwards confederated against the life of Gaveston are enumerated. Their jealousy of him was conspicuously manifested at this tournament ; and he, on his part, did not fail to meet it in his usual spirit of disdainful scoffing. He called Pembroke, who was lean and sallow of aspect, " Joseph the Jew ;" Warwick, who foamed at the mouth when transported by passion, "the wild boar of Ardennes;" and Lancaster, who indulged an extravagant NOTES. 169 the stage-player." S a Uiis public exhibi- tion of his folly, he was temporari. ..: the instance of the queen and the nobility. At part:/. rd upon him all the jewels which he had received as love-tokens from his fair and royal bride. He was recalled in the fatal year of 13 IS. ! Hfc* Isabelle of France., at that period a beautiful girl of fifteen. Her name has since become synonymous with every thing that is darkest and most hateful in human na1 eyond the falsest of women, san- guinary and vindictive beyond the sternest of men. she united the worst vices of both sexes, and appears not to have possessed one redeeming virtue of either. Few ideas arise more forcibly on contemplating the splendour of this tournament, than that of the undeveloped germs of crime, horror, and misery which lay unsuspected beneath so fair and bright a surface. " By the shining rein of a silver chain" A lady frequently led her warrior's steed to the barrier by a silver chain. Sometimes whole processions of knights were thus conducted to * Lite icalls of glittering armour.'" When the two bodies of knights were drawn up in full array opposite to each other, a rope was stretched across the breasts of the horses, and held at either end by a herald. At the signal to charge, the rope was dropped, and the released and impatient steeds at once galloped forwards. The lists were generally marked out by wooden palings, above which were erected galleries for the spectators. The barrier was the entrance to the lists guarded by heralds, whose business it was to admit every knight who was deemed worthy of a place in the tournament. THE SIX BURGHERS Of CALAIS. P. 82. Manny:' Sir Walter, or Gauitier de Manny, was a knight of matchless courage and spotless fame, who came over to England when quite a youth in the train of Queen Philippa. Kis deeds of valour, unstained by any dark- ening tinge of ferocity, are in themselves a romance, and might rill a volume. 170 LAYS AND BALLADS. THE DEATH OF KING JAMES I. P. 101. James I., having incurred the hatred of his nobles hy the unalterahle resolution with which he restrained their excesses, and the stern upright- ness with which he did justice between those tyrants of the soil and the unfortunate vassals whom they had been accustomed to oppress at their pleasure, was murdered hy a band of traitors led by Sir Robert (Jrahame, at Perth, in the year 1437. So valiantly did he defend himself, that, Although entirely unarmed, he succeeded in mastering two of the ruffians who attempted his life, and was only overcome at last by the assault of numbers. Sixteen wounds were found in his breast alone. 11 Lei Cameron and Montrose reply .'" The dan Cameron was distinguished for its devoted loyalty to the unfortunate Charles Edward. At the battle of Culloden many Camerons were slain, and Lochiel, the chief of the clan, was borne from the field dangerously wounded. The name of Montrose at once calls up before our eyes an image of everything that is high-minded, chivalrous, and loyal. He suffered death by sentence of parliament shortly after the murder of Charles I. THE LAY OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. P. 106. The name and story of Wallace must be familiar as a household word even to the very youngest of my readers. For the particulars of his heroic life I would refer to Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, or to the Lives of Scottish Worthies in the " Family Library." BRUCE AND DOUGLAS. P. 108. " undaunted Randolph, Knight of the Perfect Wreath." Randolph, earl of Murray, one of the bravest of Bruce's followers, between whom and Douglas there was ever a generous rivalry in arms. Immediately before the battle of Bannockburn, the Bruce, perceiving that a body of English cavalry was attempting to force a passage into Stirling on the east, which quarter had been committed to the guardian- ship of Randolph, addressed that warrior in the words which have since NOTES. 171 become almost proverbial : '•' See, Randolph, a rose has fallen from your chaplet !" The sequel is well known ; and the whole story is a beautiful specimen of the gallantry and generosity of Douglas and Randolph. " And valiant Grey, and stern La Haye" Sir Andrew Grey was one of the two bra%e soldiers who, in company with Randolph, led the adventurous band who took Edinburgh Castle by night assault. Gilbert de la Have, earl of Errol, was one of Bruce's most faithful adherents, and was created Lord High Constable of Scotland. " And loyal Lennox there.'' Bruce, when flying for his life and in great jeopardy after the battle of Methven, was warmly received by the Earl of Lennox, who lamented with tears that he could not afford him any effectual assistance. " Effaced and well atoned" Having been informed that this expression has been deemed objec- tionable by high authority. I beg to explain that I am here speaking not of any sins which Bruce committed against God, but of those of which he was guilty towards his country, and for which his after-life may well be considered a sufficient atonement. " Methveris field of blood and woes." The first battle fought by Bruce, after he took arms in behalf of his country, took place at Methven, near Perth, on the 19th of June, 1306, and was a total and disastrous defeat. " Eachrin's unforgotien coast." It was in the small and desolate island of Rachrin, on the coast of Ireland, that Bruce, a hunted and despairing exile, lay on his couch watching the efforts of a spider, and learning hope from the unwearied perseverance and final success of the insect. The story is too well known for repetition here. " Ar rail's isle by shady Clyde." Bruce landed in the island of Arran on his return to Scotland, and made his presence known to his friends, who were hunting in the woods, by winding a blast on his horn. " Yonder is the king !" cried Douglas, when he heard the sound ; " I knovr him by his manner of blowing." Q 172 LAYS AND BALLADS. " The midnight watch.'" The story of the beacon on Tumberry Head is familiar to all readers of Sir Walter Scott's poetry— in other words, its notoriety is universal. " The death of the traitor Coiniju." The Red Coinyn was stabbed by Bruce in a burst of indignation at discovering that he was engaged in treasonable correspondence with the English. This fatal act was committed in the church of the Minorites at Dumfries; and it was in answer to Brace's wild and broken exclamation, BJ he rushed in remorseful agitation from the desecrated sanctuary, " I doubt I hae slain the red Comyn," that Kirkpatrick littered the celebrated words, " I will mak sicker;" and, hurrying to the spot, despatched the wounded man with his dagger. " Ok, lift me iij), in ;i I) ret lire n deur, J ad lit me look on Clyde!" The Bruce died in a castle on the banks of the Clyde; and one of his principal amusements, during the last days of his life, was to go out upon the river in a ship. THE rruce's heart, p. 113. 14 A valiant knight the casket bore." Sir Simon Lnckhard of Lee, whose name was changed to Lockhart in memory of his guardianship of the Bruce's heart. GRIZZEL HUME. P. 119. "But he murmur'd Monmouth's name" fyc. The Duke of Monmouth, a prince of generous and gentle temper, was the personal friend of Sir Patrick Hume. He was engaged in the Jervis- wood plot, and was leader of that more dangerous enterprise organised in London, which cost the lives of Lord Russell and Algernon Sydney. Monmouth was beheaded in the reign of James II. " His daughter s first-born" fyc. The Lady Grizzel Hume married the son and heir of that Baillie cf Jerviswood whom we have before named as chief of the conspiracy in which Sir Patrick Hume was so deeply engaged. NOTES. 173 " Sedgemoofs field" Monmouth was taken prisoner at the battle of Sedgemoor. " Lone Inchinnan's fatal ford." The Duke of Argyle was commander-in-chief of an army which in- vaded Scotland about the year 1638, and in which Sir Patrick Hume held a high post. He was taken captive by the enemy's forces while endea- vouring to cross the ford of Inchinnan. THE CHOICE OF THE CHRISTIAN HEROES. P. 131. H And heaven'* s own light for many a night Play'd round each sleeping head." The death of these heroic captives occurred exactly as narrated in the ballad. It was believed that beams of light irradiated the unburied corpses during many successive nights. Let not this goodly battalion of the noble army of martyrs be ever forgotten. THE VOW OF CORTES. P. 142. The story on which this ballad is founded is related by Mr. Prescott in his History of Mexico, which is throughout rich in romantic incident and picturesque narration. Aguilar, the aged captive whose liberation is here described, is included among the companions of Columbus, whose lives are related in a volume of the "Family Library," supplementary to the biography of that great discoverer. EXPLANATIONS OF SOME UNUSUAL WORDS EMPLOYED IN THE PRECEDING PAfl Burgher, or burgess.— A citizen ; that is, one who possesses the freedom of a city ami the privilege! connected therewith. The number and nature of these were, of course, dependent on the terms of the char- ter by which they were granted, and which was obtained either from the sovereign, or from the chief baron of the district in which the city was situated. The power of bearing arms, and the establishment of independent municipal governments, which continue to this day in the mayors and corporations of our towns, were the principal rights awarded to free cities. The first germ of citizenship in England is probably dis- coverable in the division of the country under Alfred into hundreds and tythings, in one of which every inhabitant was obliged to enrol himself under penalty of being treated as an outlaw. But in no country did the power of cities rise to so gnat a height as in Italy, where the most illustrious nobles were often subjected to the jurisdiction of the city near which they dwelt. The freedom of a city was frequently pre- sented to a knight or a nobleman; but though he thus virtually be- came a burgess, it is not customary to apply the name to any person of noble birth. Burghers were first summoned in England to attend parliament, which had hitherto been exclusively composed of nobles and ecclesiastics, by the revolted barons under Henry III. in 1265. Cas&ue.— A helmet; which, in its fullest signification, consisted of the steel cap covering the head, the beaver or beevor beneath the chin, and the movable vizor which defended the face. The beaver was also movable, and could be drawn up at pleasure to cover the chin and meet the lower rim of the vizor. The word heaver is often incorrectly used for vizor, or even for helmet. Corbel. — A carved projection from the wall of a building, on which the supports of the roof, or of a parapet beneath the roof, rested. No or- nament which does not form the base of a support receives the name of corbel. Cuirass.— A breastplate; to which were generally added the gorget or collar around the throat, the back-piece, and brassets or sleeves, EXPLANATIONS OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 175 forming altogether a complete vest of steel covering the upper part of the body. CtrrssES.— Steel-plates covering the thighs. The legs were also defended by steel-plates, denominated greaves. Hauberk.— A shirt of mail. It extended from the throat to the thigh or knee, and was composed of links of interwoven steel, fitting more or less closely to the body, and so pliant as not to restrain the movements of the wearer. The hauberk was without sleeves ; and the name is also applied to a shirt of mail composed of plates. Herald.— The office of herald in the times of chivalry comprehended far more than is implied by its modern and popular signification in tale or drama — that of a messenger from one armed power to another. The respect which was entertained for the character amounted almost to reverence : it was a mortal offence to strike a herald ; and to assume the office without being really qualified for it, or to counterfeit with- out in fact possessing it, were crimes worthy of the deepest condem- nation. The business of the herald, besides proficiency in that minute science of genealogies and armorial bearings from which the name is derived, was, to receive from every knight a full and particular ac- count of all his exploits, whether successful or inglorious, confirmed by oath. Every warrior, on his return from any expedition, was bound to make such a report to the heralds, who thus became depositories of all records of fame or of dishonour, and accurate judges of the respec- tive merits of such knights as presented themselves in the field or the tourney. It was the part of the herald to receive all complaints, and answer all questions concerning the warriors who intended to tilt in the lists ; it was his part also to greet each knight as he presented himself before the barrier (see notes to the Tournament) with words of courtesy or of compliment, appropriate to the degree of his fame in arms, and to encourage the combatants by cries and shouts as they rode to the attack. Sir Walter Scott notices that the character of herald must have begun to deteriorate from its august dignity by the time of Louis XT. of France — that is to say, towards the middle of tb* 15th century; because that prince ventured to despatch a counter- feit, herald to Edward IV. of England; and the act is recorded by the contemporary historian, Philip des Comines, without any expressions of horror or disgust. Knight.— In the days of chivalry the dignity of knighthood was con- ferred only on persons of noble birth, who had previously filled the offices of page and squire in due succession. The manner in which the ceremony was usually performed is described in the ballad of Count Geoffrey of Anjou. The virtues imposed upon a knight, namely, 176 LAYS AND HALLAD9. those of pit ty, courage, self-denial, generality, honour, loyalty, cour- tesy, scrupulous adherence to truth, and Indefatigable advocacy tfthe oppressed or helpless, were such as would grace and dignify our own enlightened da\s; ami i; may certainly he questioned whether they are more universally practised uow than they were of old. At any rate the ''few noble," who maybe said to have realised the idea of knighthood — such as (Jodt'r. y of Uouillon, the Hlack Prince, or the Chevalier Dayard — may tVarlessly challenge comparison with any members of the list ol' modem worthier It ll the fashion with mnny to decry chivalry, as though it were the cause ol' all those evils of which it was in fact the corrective and remedy. Those historical iconoclasts whose business it is to deface and destroy whatever has of old been held deserving of admiration or re\ -:pt, like their parallels in the religious world, to erect, in plarc of the idols which they dethrone, others far let! worthy of worship and praise; but so long as utilitarianism stands ready to assume the place of honour, we think, that no one possessing any degree of imagination or high- mindedness will ask chivalry to descend from it. . ( or drpi mlaut. (See Vassal.) MlLia. — This was the general engagement, hand to hand, in the tourna- ment, as distinguished from the jousts, where the knights tilted to- gether in pairs. The word is also applicable to a battle. Morion.— A helmet. (See Casque.) Page,— This was the oflice bestowed on children of noble birth when they had attained the age of seven years, previous to their induction into the duties of an esquire, which generally took place at fourteen. The page seldom resided under the roof of his parents, as it was sup- posed that their indulgence might materially interfere with the prose- cution of his education ; but he was generally committed to the charge of some renowned baron, on whose person it was his business to wait, though he passed the greater part of his time among the females of the family and household. He was sedulously instructed in all mar- tial exercises suitable to his age, and inured to obedience, courtesy of deportment, and indifference to fatigue or hardship. Many of the offices which were included among his duties would now be con- sidered menial ; hut we may regard his position as somewhat analo- gous to that of a fag in one of our public schools, who, though he be a duke's son, is not supposed to he disgraced by blacking his master's shoes. Selle.— A poetical word for saddle. EXPLANATIONS OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 177 Serf.— A slave, the lowest kind of vassal, who was as much the property of his lord as was the soil which he was employed to cultivate, or the herds which he led to pasture. SauiRE (or esquire). — This office, though necessarily preliminary to that of knight, was not always conferred on such as were capable of being advanced to the dignity of knighthood. The position of a squire was still that of a servant, his duty being to attend on the person of the knight, to clean his armour, and watch his proceedings in the battle or the tourney, keeping in readiness to fly to his assistance when in imminent danger. The squire was not permitted to engage in the tournament at the same time with his master ; but there was a day appointed beforehand on which it was lawful for squires to contend in the lists, and on which they might possibly win their spurs. When a squire had attained the age of twenty-one years, if his conduct had been unimpeachable, and he had won honour in arms, he might de- mand knighthood from his master as a right. If he encountered a refusal, he might apply to any other knight for the accolade; and unless there were sufficient grounds for rejecting him, he was certain to obtain the boon which he sought. Suzerain. — The feudal lord, or sovereign of a district. The king was suzerain of his whole country; his nobles were all vassals to him, but suzerains to those beneath them. Vassal. — One dependent on another ; a subject, though not necessarily a serf or slave. A king might be the vassal of another king, if he possessed territories within the dominions of his brother sovereign. He was then bound to do homage for them, to give military service to his suzerain, and to appear, if summoned, to answer any charge made against him in his character of vassal. His nobles, or great vassals, owed him a similar duty, which they exacted, in turn, from their own dependants. But the effect of this system was to limit the power of the crown, and increase that of the aristocracy; for each one of the great vassals, with whom alone the king came in contact, was, in himself, so powerful as to be capable of resisting his sovereign with good chance of success. The spirit of loyalty, which was an integral part of chivalry, was one great corrective of this evil, as, except in gross cases of oppression on the part of the sovereign, it restricted the probability of rebellion to a few restless and unprincipled barons, and discouraged a league of the vassals against their suzerain. Another check was in time supplied by the progress of citizenship (see Burgher). The number of free and chartered cities, no longer in a state of vassalage, of course abridged the power of the nobles, while it tended rather to increase that of the monarch, to whom such cities continued to owe fealty and allegiance. 178 LAYS AND BALLADS. "Wassail. — Derived from Wmi heal, two Saxon words lignifying "Health to thee." The -wassail-cup, or bowl filled with spiced wine, which was the favourite beverage at the feasts of our Saxon forefathers, received its name from the words pronounced by Ro- wena, the beautiful daughter ofHengilt, when she presented it at a banquet to Prince Vorti^ern, her future husband. She advanced modestly towards him, and olfered him the goblet, Myiag at the same time, Wa* heal ltlaford conung — " Health to thee, my lord Hug." In its more general application, the word wassail signifies merriment or revelry. 7 34 LONDON : PRINTED BY BOBSON, LEVEY, AND FBANKLYN, Great New Street, Fetter Lane. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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