PS 1103 
 .B46 B3 
 1904 
 Copy 1 
 
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The Battle of 
 Love by Char 
 lesG.Blanden 
 
 The Blue Sky 
 PressChicago 
 
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 JCNBStSS 
 
 rwc Copies 
 
 fieWJVw* 
 
 ^PR 3 
 
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 Copyright, igo4, by 
 The Blue Sky Press 
 
WIZARD has ta'en 
 a fair lady 
 And shut her in a 
 tower; 
 With evil e'e and 
 passes three, 
 He vows her in 
 his power. 
 
 "Now, love me, love me," is his cry, 
 " And let the harpour go. 
 
 And thou shalt live a tearless life. 
 To gibe at every woe." 
 
Yet still doth wail that fair lady 
 " Oh, sir, pray set me free; 
 
 I cannot love where I do loathe, 
 What e'er the penance be. 
 
 My love he is a menestrel, 
 My love shall set me free; 
 
 My love will harp this castle down 
 With music made to me." 
 
 The wizard laughed at fair Helen, 
 And loud he laughed and long. 
 
 That walls of stone be overthrown 
 By nothing but a song. 
 
Oh, long he laughed and loud he 
 laughed: 
 
 " Now this I do for thee; 
 If that thy harpour harp so well, 
 
 Forsooth, I '11 set thee free. 
 
 The gates shall swing but for this thing: 
 
 He fifty songs shall make 
 And sing them all beneath the wall, 
 
 For thee and thy sweet sake. 
 
 Full fifty songs, from morn to night. 
 The price that he must pay; 
 
 Which if he do, this castle, too, 
 Shall pence his roundelay." 
 
Oh, sadly sighed the fair lady, 
 
 All in the lonely tower; 
 Oh, sadly smiled the young Helen, 
 
 Within the wizard's power. 
 
 " Now smile not so," the wizard said; 
 
 " If that thy harpour fail, 
 The price shall be thy hand to me. 
 
 The lord of this good vale.*' 
 
 The lady paled, the lady moaned, 
 
 The lady dropta tear. 
 " Now hither bring my menestrel. 
 
 And thither take my fear." 
 
The lady's heart it beat full high, 
 The lady*s cheeks grew flush, 
 
 As when at morn, to shame the thorn, 
 A rose regales the bush. 
 
 The wizard waved his wand in air 
 
 And spake a mystic word, 
 And where he sate, by his far gate. 
 
 The menestrel has heard. 
 
 That menestrel, as in a dream. 
 Takes up his harp and fares; 
 
 By dale and hill, by mead and rill. 
 He makes him magic airs. 
 
As in a dream, he comes unto 
 
 The castle in the vale. 
 " Oh, lady fair at thy lattice, 
 
 I prithee why so pale ? " 
 
 " Oh, menestrel," the lady says, 
 " This is my prison place, 
 
 And 1 must wed the old wizard 
 TJnto my great disgrace. 
 
 And I must wed the grim wizard. 
 Unless the price ye pay — 
 
 Full fifty songs from morn to night 
 Of this my sorrow-day." 
 
•* This will I pay, thou fair lady, 
 Or, singing for thee, die." 
 
 The wizard heard the battle word. 
 And he wox fierce thereby. 
 
 The menestrel has ta*en his harp, 
 
 And lo ! his soul is flame; 
 He strikes a chord on his harp-strings 
 
 And calls on Beauty's name. 
 
 The wizard laughs, the wizard frowns. 
 And hisses three times three; 
 
 He may not kill the sweet music 
 Of love's young minstrelsy. 
 
Fast come the lays, — Apollo plays,- 
 His cheeks with roses gay; 
 
 His eyes are bright and have a light 
 That haunts that wizard grey. 
 
 The lady leans from her casement, 
 Her heart is liege to Grief; 
 
 Her eyes are wet, her lips, I ween, 
 A-tremble like a leaf. 
 
 " Have ye no fear, O lady dear; 
 
 Oh lady fair be fain; 
 My harp shall win a full freedom 
 
 And give thee home again. 
 
My harp it is a harp most good, 
 That through its twanging strings 
 
 Feels rivers flow, above, below. 
 From some immortal springs. 
 
 And think ye that my hand shall tire, 
 
 And think ye they do fail 
 Who draw their strength from sweet 
 music 
 
 And wear the lover's mail ? " 
 
 The wizard laughs in his white beard, 
 His laugh is strange to hear; 
 
 His eyes are like to burning coals 
 In winter of the year. 
 
And can a harpour harp him so 
 A wizard*s power be nought ? 
 
 In his thin hand he waves his wand 
 And dooms the rising thought. 
 
 In his long hand he waves his wand, 
 His spirits forth to bring, 
 
 But never one doth cross the sun 
 To still the twanging string. 
 
 The wizard wonders they come not, 
 And 'rates his demons black 
 
 They be afraid to lend him aid, 
 And he so lean and lack. 
 
The wizard leans upon his wand, 
 f The wizard dreams a dream; 
 The wizard hears from his childhood 
 A laughing mountain stream. 
 
 The wizard sees a merry boy 
 
 Beside the stream at play. 
 (The wizard's beard like to a cloud 
 
 Of summer floats away.) 
 
 His long white beard, his miser years, 
 
 Away, away they float; 
 Within his heart he hears again 
 
 A sweet and sunny note. 
 
Into his eyes, his desert eyes, 
 
 Leaps up a childish tear, 
 And o'er his wan and wrinkled cheek 
 
 It hurries on in fear. 
 
 The wizard stands and stares ahead, 
 
 His heart is like to burst; 
 His lips are dry as Afric sands. 
 
 His soul is all athirst. 
 
 And he speaks low: "This sweet music 
 Doth dig me from the tomb; 
 
 I feel arise my happy youth — 
 I see my roses bloom. 
 
I see to bloom my red roses; 
 
 I see my roses die; 
 The winter's cold doth them enfold- 
 
 And very old am I." 
 
 And still he sung, that menestrel; 
 
 The wizard well he knew. 
 Song after song from his good harp 
 
 And from his soul he drew. 
 
 While swifter far than honey bees 
 The moments they went by; 
 
 The golden sun — how fast he falls 
 Adown the western sky. 
 
'' Oh, hurry, hurry, brave harpour; 
 
 Oh, sing and sing again. 
 The sun he will not tarry him 
 
 To heal a lady's pain." 
 
 " Now cheer thee, cheer thee, fair 
 Helen; 
 
 Full fifty songs be thine; 
 1 feel them all in my heart's blood 
 
 A-tingle like to wine. 
 
 And I will sing the songs fifty, 
 So sure as buds do blow — 
 
 Full fifty ballads breathe within 
 The rose of song I know." 
 
The lady smiled and thanked him, 
 She thanked him and more: 
 
 She was the dew, she was the light 
 Unto his red heart's core. 
 
 The wizard sighs, he is undone; 
 
 He is a feeble wight: 
 The blossoms of a true, true love 
 
 Are hyssop in hissight. 
 
 Again, again he circles round 
 And waves his ebon wand; 
 
 But never one of his demons 
 Obeys him his command. 
 
He falls him on the sere grasses, 
 
 Like faded leaf he falls; 
 And still he lies, within his eyes 
 
 His hopes own funerals. 
 
 The menestrel he stays never. 
 
 The menestrel he sings 
 As he were bird with heaven's word 
 
 And heir to heavenly things. 
 
 The menestrel for love he sung, 
 The menestrel he played 
 
 Until the sun the goal had won 
 That is our evenshade. 
 
And now is done the Jong battle, 
 Well foughten hand to hand — 
 
 The menestrel with sweet music, 
 The wizard with his wand. 
 
 The wizard pale and cold he lies. 
 
 The menestrel is gay; 
 The lady flees the lonely tower. 
 
 With none to speak her nay. 
 
 Ay, she has gone with her lover 
 
 Unto his House of Song; 
 The House of Song that is more proud 
 
 Than castles — and more strong. 
 
PAGEANT SERIES 
 
 Of this edition of "THE BATTLE OF 
 LOVE there have been printed three 
 hundred copies on Van Gelder handmade 
 paper ^ and fifteen copies on Japan vel- 
 lum; this being number ^1, 
 
 The Blue Sky Press, Chicago, Illinois 
 
APR 3 1905 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 016 115 742 9 #