THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES CHRISTINE, AND OTHER POEM& 1 But she calls on Christ, and the kerchief white Waves fill I in tin- face of her foe ! Hack with an oath reeled the Wizard Knight, As his steed crouched low in tbe wondrous light Of the Santo Sudario." PAOK 11C2. CHRISTINE : TROUBADOUR'S AND OTHER POEMS BY GEORGE H. MILES. LAWRENCE KEHOE, 145 NASSAU STREET. 1866. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by LAWRENCE KEHOE, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New-York. CONTENTS. PAOB CHRISTINE 7 POEMS. RAPHAEL SANZIO 137 A CARD FROM THE VIOLETS -.--..... 151 THE LAST SNOW-WREATH 154 MARCELLA ............ 157 SHE WILL RETCRN 1G3 " UNDER THE TREE, LOVE " - - - - 166 SAN SISTO 171 THE ALBATROSS ... ........ 175 BEATRICE .... ........ 179 LA VELATA 187 THE BIRD'S SONG - - 189 INKERMASN ............. 192 DONNA - ~ 209 BLIGHT AND BLOOM -- -- 212 VI CONTENTS. PAGI SHUISELKIRA* 215 LAZARUS ^ . . . - 217 TH IVORT CRUCIFIX ....... - - - 221 THK KINO'S SPEECH - -29 SAID TH ROSE 285 SONGS. BEETHA . 243 FIDEUB - 244 LADT BIRD - - 246 SHE TOLD ME Nor TO LOVE HER 248 OH! THE YEAR HAS LOST ITS LIGHT 249 THERE WAS * TIME .....--.--251 BJLL ASD I ..-...---.-- 258 GABRIEL'S Soxci -- 257 A LctLABT - 259 ALADDIN'S PALACE 263 PEELUDE. THEKE is an Angel whom I see in dreams. The heavens break open and lie takes his stand Upon a cliff of shining adamant Far in the furthest west. There bird-like poised, With wings of snow wide arched and radiant head For flight thrown forward, to his lips he lifts A shining trumpet, gold, and like to those Seen by Angelico in blessed vision; Then slowly with unmoving pinion soars Straight for the zenith. ISTot a star is shining, Nor sun, nor moon, nor round his tranquil brow The halo, nor the fire-trail at his feet. 8 PRELUDE. The firmament is lighted from his eyes ; And all is still in ocean, air, and earth, Save the far music which that trumpet makes. There is a word in that far music couched, Half lost and hidden in its melody : Beauty or Duty which, or both in one ? For half the puzzled echoes answer ' Beauty,' "While half are still replying 'Duty, Duty.' But once the zenith reached, the Seraph swings One shining hand aloft in central heaven And stamps in fire, with letters interlaced In lustrous coils inseparably blent, Two mystic words. And as he writes, and ere The deep sky hides him in her heart, the last Low echoes of that golden clarion sigh, 'Beauty and Duty, one eternally.' Ladye, to thee the minstrel's song is sung. CHRISTINE. THE Queen hatli built her a fairy Bower In the shadow of the Accursed Tower, For the Moslem hath left his blood-stained lair, And the banner of England waveth there. Thither she lureth the Lion King To hear a wandering Trove-re sing; For well she knew the Joyous Art "Was surest path to Richard's heart. But the Monarch's glance was on the sea Sooth, he was scarce in minstrel mood, For Philip's triremes homeward stood With all the Gallic chivalry. And as he watched the filmy sail Upon the farthest billow fail. 10 CHRISTINE. He muttered, "Richard ill can spare Thee and thy Templars, false and fair; Yet God hath willed it home to thee, Death or Jerusalem for me!" Then pressing with a knightly kiss The peerless hand tliat slept in his, " Ah, would our own Blondel were here To try a measure I wove last e'en. What songster hast thou caught, my Queen, Whose harp may soothe a Monarch's ear?" She beckoned, and the Trovere bowed To many a Lord and Ladye fair That gathered round the royal pair; But most his simple song was vowed To a sweet shape with dark brown hair, Half hidden in the gentle crowd ; Pale as a spirit, sharply slender, In maiden beauty's crescent splendor. And never yet bent Minstrel knee To Mistress lovelier than she. THE FIRST SOIS T G. THE FIRST SONG. Ye have heard of the Castle of Miolan And how it hath stood since time began, Midway to yon mountain's brow, Guarding the beautiful valley below : Its crest the clouds, its ancient feet Where the Arc and the Isere murmuring meet. Earth hath few lovelier scenes to show Thau Miolan with its hundred halls, Its massive towers and bannered walls, Looming out through the vines and walnut woods That gladden its stately solitudes. 14 CIIKISTINE. And there might ye hear but yestermorn The loud halloo and the hunter's horn. The laugh of mailed men at play, The drinking bout and the roundelay. But now all is sternest silence there. Save the bell that calls to vesper prayer ; Save the ceaseless surge of a father's wail, And, hark 1 ye may hear the Baron's Tale. CHRISTINE. 15 rr. " Come hither, Hermit ! Yestermorn I had an only son, A gallant fair as e'er was born, A knight whose spurs were won In the red tide by Godfrey's side At Ascalon. " But yestermorn he came to me For blessing on his lance, And death and danger seemed to flee O The joyaunce of his glance, For he would ride to win his Bride, Christine of France. 16 CHRISTINE. " All sparkling in the sun he stood In mail of Milan dressed, A scarf, the gift of her he wooed, Lay lightly o'er his breast, As, with a clang, to horse he sprang . With nodding crest. " Gaily he grasped the stirrup cup Afoam with spicy ale, But as he took the goblet up Methought his check grew pale, And a shudder ran through the iron man And through his mail. " Oft had I seen him breast the shock Of squire or crowned king, His front was firm as rooted rock When spears were shivering : I knew no blow could shake him so From living thing. CHRISTINE. 17 " 'Twas something near akin to death That blanched and froze his cheek, Yet 'twas not death for he had breath. And when I bade him speak, Unto his breast his hand he pressed With one wild shriek. " The hand thus clasped upon his heart So sharply curbed the rein, Grey Caliph, rearing with a start, Went bounding o'er the plain Away, away with echoing neigh And streaming mane. " After him sped the menial throng ; I stirred not in my fear; Perchance I swooned, for it seemed not long Ere the race did reappear, And my son still led on his desert-bred. Grasping his spear. 18 CHRISTINE. " Unchanged in look or limb, lie came, He and his barb so fleet, His hand still on his heart, the same Stern bearing in his seat, And wheeling round with sudden bound Stopped at my feet. " And soon as ceased that wildering tramp 'What ails thee, boy?' I cried Taking his hand all chill and damp ' What means this fearful ride ? Alight, alight, for lips so white Would scare a Bride !' " But sternly to his steed clove he, And answer made he none, I clasped him by his barbed knee And there I made my moan ; While icily he stared at me, At me alone. CHRISTINE. 19 " A strange, unmeaning stare was that, And a page beside me said, ' If ever corse in saddle sat, Our lord is certes sped!' But I smote the lad, for it drove me mad To think him dead. " What ! dead so young, what ! lost so soon, My beautiful, my brave ! Sooner the sun should find at noon In central heaven a grave! Sweet Jesu, no, it is not so When Thou canst save ! " For was he dead and was he sped, When he could ride so well, So bravely bear his plumed head? Or, was't some spirit fell In causeless wrath had crossed his path With fiendish spell? 20 CHRISTINE. " Oh, Hermit, 'twas a cruel sight, And lie, who loves to bless, Xe'er sent on son such bitter blight, On sire such sore distress, Such piteous pass, and I, alas, So powerless! " They would have ta'en him from his horse The while I wept and prayed, They would have lain him like a corse Upon a litter made Of traversed spear and martial gear, But I forbade. " I gazed into his face again, I chafed his hand once more, I summoned him to speak, in vain He sat there as before, "While the gallant Grey in dumb dismay His rider bore. CHRISTINE. 21 " Full well, full well Grey Caliph then The horror seemed to know, E'en deeper than my mailed men Methought he felt our woe; For the barbed head of the desert-bred Was drooping low. " Amazed, aghast, he gazed at me, That mourner true and good, Then backward at my boy looked he, As if a word he sued, And like sculptured pile in abbey aisle The twain there stood. " I took the rein : the frozen one Still fast in saddle sate, As tremblingly I led him on Toward the great castle gate. O walls mine own, why have ye grown So desolate? 22 CHRISTINE. " I led them to the castle gate And paused before the shrine Where throned in state from earliest date, Protectress of our line, Madonna pressed close to her breast The Babe Divine. " And kneeling lowly at her feet, I begged the Mother mild That she would sue her Jesu sweet To aid my stricken child ; And the meek stone face flashed full of grace As if she smiled. " And methought the eyes of the Full of Grace Upon my darling shone, Till living seemed that marble face And the living man seemed stone, While a halo played round the Mother Maid And round her Son. CIIEISTINE. 23 " And there was radiance everywhere Surpassing light of day, On man and horse, on shield and spear Burned the bright, blinding ray ; But most it shone on my only one And his gallant Grey. " A sudden clang of armor rang, My boy lay on the sward, Up high in air Grey Caliph sprang, An instant fiercely pawed, Then trembling stood aghast and viewed His fallen lord. " Then with the flash of fire away Like sunbeam o'er the plain, Away, away with echoing neigh And wildly waving mane, Away he sped, loose from his head The flying rein. 24 CHBISTINE. " I watched the steed from pass to pass Unto the welkin's rim, I feared to turn my eyes, alas, To trust a look at him ; And when I turned, my temples burned And all grew dim. " Sweet if such swoon could endless be, Yet speedily I woke And missed my boy: they showed him Full length on bed of oak, Clad as 'twas meet in mail complete And sable cloak. " All of our race upon that bier Had rested one by one, I had seen my father lying there, And now there lay my son! Ah! my sick soul bled the while it said ' Thy will be done !' CHRISTINE. 25 " Bright glanced the crest, bright gleamed the spur, That well had played their part, His lance still clasped, nor could they stir His left hand from his heart; There fast it clove, nor would it move With all their art. " I found no voice, I shed no tear, They thought me well resigned. All else who stood around the bier With weeping much were blind; And a mourning voice went through tho house Like a low wind. " And there was sob of aged man And woman's wailing cry, All cheeks were wan, all eyes o'erran, Yon fair-haired maidens sigh, And one apart with breaking heart Weeps bitterly. 26 CHRISTINE. " But sharper than spear-thrust, I trow, Their wailing through me went ; Stern silence suited best my woe, And, howc'cr well the intent, Their menial din seemed half akin To merriment. " For oh, such grief was mock to mine Whose days were all undone, The last of all this ancient line To share whose grief was none ! Straight from the hall I barred them all And stood alone. " ' Receive me now, thon bed of oak ! ' I fell upon the bier, And, Hermit, when this morning broke It found me clinging there. O maddening morn ! That day dare dawn On such a pair! CHRISTINE. 27 " I sent for thee, thou man of God, To watch with me to-night ; My boy still liveth, by the rood, Nor shall be funeral rite ! But, Hermit, come : this is the room : There lies the Knight !" 28 CHRISTINE. m. But she apart With breaking heart? That very yestermorn she stood In the deepest shade of the walnut wood, As a Knight rode by on his raven steed, Crying, "Daughter mine, hast thou done the deed? I gave thee the venom, I gave thee the spell, A jealous heart might use them well." But she waved her white arms and only said, " On oaken bier is Miolan laid !" " Dead !" laughed the Knight. " Then round Pilate's Peak Let the red light burn and the eagle shriek. CHRISTINE. 29 When Miolan's lieir lies on the bier, Low is the only lance I fear : I ride, I ride to win my Bride, IIo, Eblis, to thy servant's side, Thou hast sworn no foe Shall lay me low Till the dead in arms against me ride 1" \ THE SECOND THE SECOND SONG. They passed into an ancient hall "With oaken arches spanned. Full many a shield hung on the wall, Full many a broken brand, And barbed spear and scimetar From Holy Land. And scarfs of dames of high degree "With gold and jewels rich, And many a mouldered effigy In many a mouldering niche, Like grey sea shells whose crumbling cells Bestrew the beach. 34: CHRISTINE. The sacred dead possessed the place, The silent cobweb wreathed The tombs where slept that warrior race, "With swords for ever sheathed : You seemed to share the very air Which they had breathed. Oh, darksome was that funeral room, Those oaken arches dim, The torchlight, struggling through the gloom. Fell faint on effige grim, On dragon dread and carved head Of Cherubim. Of Cherubim fast by a shrine Whereon the last sad rite Was wont for all that ancient line, For dame and belted knight A shrine of Moan which death alone Did ever light. CHRISTINE. 35 But light not now that altar stone "While hope of life remain, Though darksome be that altar lone, Unlit that funeral fane, Save by the rays cast by the blaze Of torches twain. Of torches twain at head and heel Of him who seemeth dead, Who sleepeth so well in his coat of steel, His cloak around him spread The young Knight fair, who lieth there On oaken bed. One hand still fastened to his heart, The other on his lance, While through his eyelids, half apart, Life seemeth half to glance. " Sweet youth awake, for Jesu's sake, From this strange trance !" 36 CHRISTINE. But heed or answer there is none. Then knelt that Hermit old ; To Mother Mary and her Son Full many a prayer he told, Whose wondrous words the Church records In lettered gold : And many a precious litany And many a pious vow, Then rising said, "If fiend it be, That fiend shall leave thee now ! " And traced the sign of the Cross divine On lips and brow. As well expect yon cherub's wings To wave at matin bell ! Not all the relics of the kings Could break that iron spell. " Pray for the dead, let mass be said, Toll forth the knell !" CHRISTINE. ?>7 "Not yet!" the Baron gasped and sank As if beneath a blow, With lips all writhing as they drank The dregs of deepest woe ; With eyes aglare, and scattered hair Tossed to and fro. So swings the leaf that lingers last When wintry tempests sweep, So reels when storms have stripped the mast The galley on the deep, So nods the snow on Eigher's brow Before the leap. Uncertain 'mid his tangled hair His palsied fingers stray, He smileth in his dumb despair Like a sick child at play, Though wet, I trow, with tears eno' That beard so grey. 38 I S T I N E . Oh, Hermit, lift him to your breast, There "Best his heart may bleed ; Since none but heaven can give him rest,, Heaven's priest must meet his need : Dry that white beard, now wet and weird As pale sea-weed. Uprising slowly from the ground, "With short and frequent breath, In aimless circles, round and round, The Baron tottereth With trailing feet, a mourner meet For house of death. Till, pausing by the shrine of Moan, He said, the while he wept, " Here, Hermit, here mine only one, When all the castle slept, As maiden knight, o'er armor bright, His first watch kept, CHRISTINE. " This is the casque that first he wore, And this his virgin shield, This lance to his first tilt he bore, With this first took the field- How light, how lache to that huge ash He now doth wield ! " This blade hath levelled at a blow The she-wolf in her den, With this red falchion he laid low The slippery Saracen. God! will that hand, so near his brand, Ne'er strike again? " Frown not on him, ye men of old, Whose glorious race is run ; Frown not on him, my fathers bold, Though many the field ye won : His name and los may mate with yours Though but begun ! 40 CHRISTINE. " Receive him, ye departed brave, Unlock the gates of light, And range yourselves about his grave To hail a brother knight, Who never erred in deed or word Against the right! " But is he dead and is he sped "Withouten scathe or scar? Why, Hermit, he hath often bled From sword and scimetar I've seen him ride, wounds gaping wide, From war to war. " And hath a silent, viewless thing Laid danger's darling low, When youth and hope were on the wing And life in morning glow? Not yonder worm in winter's storm Perisheth so ! CHRISTINE. 41 " Oh, Hermit, thou liast heard, I ween, Of trances long and deep, But, Hermit, hast them ever seen That grim and stony sleep, And canst thou tell how long a spell Such slumbers keep? " Oh, be there naught to break the charm, To thaw this icy chain; Has Mother Church no word to warm These freezing lips again; Be holy prayer and balsams rare Alike in vain ? . . . . " A curse on thy ill-omened head ; Man, bid me not despair; Churl, say not that a Knight is dead "When he can couch his spear; When he can ride Monk, thou hast lied. He lives, I swear ! 42 CHRISTINE. " Up from that bier ! Boy, to thy feet ! Know'st not thy father's voice ? Thou ne'er hast disobeyed . . . is't meet A sire should summon thrice? By these grey hairs, by these salt tears, Awake, arise ! " Ho, lover, to thy ladye flee, Dig deep the crimson spur; Sleep not 'twixt this lean monk and me "When thou shouldst kneel to her ! Oh 'tis a sin, Christine to win And thou not stir ! " IIo, laggard, hear yon trumpet's note Go sounding to the skies, The lists are set, the banners float, Yon loud-mouthed herald cries, 4 Hide, gallant knights, Christine invites, Herself the prize !" CHRISTINE. 43 " Ho, craven, shun'st tliou the melee, "WTien she expects thy brand To prove to-day in fair tourney A title to her hand? Up, dullard base, or by the mass I'll make thee stand !" .... Thrice strove he then to wrench apart Those fingers from the spear, Thrice strove to sever from the heart The hand that rested there. Thrice strove in vain with frantic strain That shook the bier. Thrice with the dead the living strove, Their armor rang a peal, The sleeping knight he would not move Although the sire did reel : That stately corse defied all force, Stubborn as steel. 44 CHRISTINE. " Ay, dead, dead, dead !" the Baron cried ; " Dear Hermit, I did rave. O were we sleeping side by side ! . . . Good monk, I penance crave For all I said .... Ay, lie is dead, Pray heaven to save! " Betake thee to thy crucifix, And let me while I may Rain kisses on these frozen cheeks Before they know decay. Leave me to weep and watch and keep The worm at bay. " Thou wilt not spare thy prayers, I trust; But name not now the grave 111 watch him to the very dust ! . . . . So, Hermit, to thy cave, "Wliilst here I cling lest creeping thing Insult the brave !" CHRISTINE. 45 "Why starts the Hermit to his feet, "Why springs he to the bier, Why ealleth he on Jesu sweet, Staying the starting tear, "What whispereth he half trustfully And half in fear ? " Sir Knight, thy ring hath razed his flesh 'Twas in thy frenzy done; Lo, from his wrist how fast and fresh The blood-drops trickling run; Heaven yet may wake, for Mary's sake, Thy warrior son. " Heap ashes on thy head, Sir Knight, In sackcloth gird thee well, The shrine of Moan must blaze in light, The morning mass must swell ; Arouse from sleep the castle keep, Sound every bell !" iG CIIEISTINE. They come, pale maid and mailed man They throng into the hall, The watcher from the barbican, The warder from the wall, And she apart, with breaking heart, The last of all. "Introibof Introibo /" The morning mass begins; " Mea cidpaf mea culpaT Forgive us all our sins; And the rapt Hermit chaunts with streaming eyes, That seem to enter Paradise, "Gloria! Gloria!" The shrine of Moan had never known That gladdest of all hymns. CIIKISTINE. 47 n. The fair-haired maiden standeth apart In the chapel gloom, with .breaking heart. But a smile crept over her face as she said, " The draught was well measured, I ween ; He liveth, thank Allah, but not to wed His beautiful Christine. No lance hath Miolan couched to-day : Let the bride for the bridegroom watch and pray, Till the lists shall hear the shriek Of the Dauphin's daughter borne away By the Knight of Pilate's Peak." THE THIRD THE THIKD SONG. Fronting the vine-clad Hermitage, Its hoary turrets mossed with age, Its walls with flowers and grass o'ergrown, A ruined Castle, throned so high Its battlements invade the sky, Looks down upon the rushing Rhone. From its tall summits you may see The sunward slopes of Cote Rotie With its red harvest's revelry ; "While eastward, midway to the Alpine snows, Soar the sad cloisters of the Grande Chart reuse. 52 CHRISTINE. And here, 'tis said, to hide his shame, The thrice accursed Pilate came ; And here the very rock is shown, Where, racked and riven with remorse, Mad with the memory of the Cross, lie sprang and perished in the Rhone. 'Tis said that certain of his race Made this tall peak their dwelling place, And built them there this castle keep To mark the spot of Pilate's leap. Full many the tale of terror told At eve, with changing cheek, By maiden fair and stripling bold, Of these dark keepers of the height And, most of all, of the Wizard Knight, The Knight of Pilate's Peak. His was a name of terror known And feared through all Provence; Men breathed it in an undertone, With quailing eye askance, CIIKISTINE. 53 Till the good Dauphin of "Vienne, And Miolan's ancient Lord, One midnight stormed the robber den And gave tliem to the sword ; All save the "Wizard Knight, who rose In a flame-wreath from his dazzled foes ; All save a child, with golden hair, "Whom the Lord of Miolan deigned to spare In ruth to womanhood, And she, alas, is the maiden fair Who wept in the walnut wood. But who is he, with step of fate, Goes gloomily through the castle gate In the morning's virgin prime? "Why scattereth he with frenzied hand The fierce flame of that burning brand, Chaunting an ancient rhyme ? The eagle, scared from her blazing nest, Whirls with a scream round his sable crest. 54 CHRISTINE. What mutteretli he with demon smile, Shaking his mailed hand the while Toward the Chateau of La Sone, Where champing steed and bannered tent Gave token of goodly tournament, And the Golden Dolphin shone? " Woe to the last of the Dauphin's line, When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine Round the towers of Pilate's Peak ! Burn, beacon, burn !" and as he spoke From the ruined towers curled the pillared smoke. As the light flame leapt from the ancient oak And answered the eagle's shriek. Man and horse down the hillside sprang And a voice through the startled forest rang " I ride, I ride to win my bride. IIo, Eblis ! to thy servant's side ; Thou hast sworn no foe Shall lay me low Till the dead in arms against me ride." CHRISTINE. 55 n. Deliciously, deliciously Cometh the dancing dawn, Christine, Christine comes with it, Leading in the morn. Beautiful pair ! So cometh the fawn Before the deer. Christine is in her bower Beside the swift Isere "Weaving a white flower With her dark brown hair. Never, O never, Wandering river, Though flowing for ever, 50 CHRISTINE. E'er shalt them mirror Maiden so fair ! Hail to tliee, hail to thee, Beautiful one; Maiden to match thec, On earth there is none. And there is none to tell How beautiful thou art ; Though oft the first Rudel Has made the Princes start, "When he has strung his harp and sung The Lily of Provence, Till the high halls have rung "With clash of lifted lance Vowed to the young Christine of France. Ah, true that he might paint The blooming of thy cheek, CHRISTINE. 57 The blue vein's tender streak On marble temple faint ; Lips in whose repose Kuby weddeth rose, Lips that parted show Ambushed pearl below: Or he may catch the subtle glow Of smiles as rare as sweet, May wliisper of the drifted snow "Where throat and bosom meet, And of the dark brown braids that flow So grandly to thy feet. Ah, true that he may sing Thy wondrous mien, Stately as befits a queen, Yet light and lithe and all awing As becometh Queen of air "Who glideth unstopping everywhere. And he might number e'en The charms that haunt thy drapery 58 OHEISTINE. Charms that, ever changing, cluster Round thy milk-white mantle's lustre, Maiden mantle that is part of thee, Maiden mantle that doth circle thee With the snows of virgin grace ; Halo-like around thee wreathing, Spirit-like about thee breathing The glory of thy face. But these dark eyes, Christine? Peace, poet, peace, Cease, minstrel, cease! But these dear eyes, Christine ? Mute, O mute Be voice and lute! O dear dark eyes that seem to dwell With holiest things invisible, Who may read your oracle? Earnest eyes that seem to rove Empyrean heights above, CHRISTINE. Yet aglow with human love, "Who may speak your spell ? Dear dark eyes that beam and bless, In whose luminous caress Nature weareth bridal dress, Eyes of voiceless Prophetess, Your meanings who may tell ! O there is none ! Peace, poet, peace, Cease, minstrel, cease, For there is none ! O eyes of fire without desire, O stars that lead the sun ! But minstrel cease, Peace, poet, peace, Tame Troubadour be still; Voice and lute Alike be mute, It passeth all your skill ! CO OHKISTINE. Sootli thou art fair, O ladyc dear, Yet one may see The shadow of the east in thce ; Tinting to a riper flush The faint vermilion of thy blush ; Deepening in thy dark brown hair Till sunshine sleeps in starlight there. For she had scarce seen summers ten, When erst the LLermit's call Sent all true Knights from bower and hall Against the Saracen. Young, motherless, and passing fair, The Dauphin durst not leave her there, "Within his castle lone, To kinsman's cold or casual care, Not such as were his own : And so the sweet Provencal maid Shared with her sire the first Crusade. CHRISTINE. Gl And you may hear her oft, In accents strangely soft, Still singing of the rose's bloom In Sharon, of tlie long sunset That gilds lamenting Olivet, Of eglantines that grace the gloom Of sad Gethsemane ; And of a young Knight ever seen In evening walks along the green That fringes feeble Siloe. Young, beautiful, and passing fair The ancient Dauphin's only heir, The fairest flower of France, Knights by sea and Knights by land Came to claim the fair white hand, With sigh and suppliant lance ; And many a shield Displayed afield The Lily of Provence. 02 CHRISTINE. Ladye love of prince and bard Yet to one young Savoyard Swerveless faith she gave To the young Knight ever seen When moonlight wandered o'er the green That gleams o'er Siloe's wave. And he, blest boy, where lingers he ? For the Dauphin hath given slow consent That, after a joyous tournament, The stately spousals shall be. Christine is in her bower That blooms by the swift Isere, Twining a white flower With her dark brown hajr. The skies of Provence Are bright with her glance, And nature's matin organ floods The world with music from the myriad throats Of the winged Troubadours, whose joyous notes CHRISTINE. 63 Brighten the rolling requiem of the woods. "With melody, flowers, and light Hath the maiden come to play, As fragile, fair, and bright And lovelier than they ? O no, she has come to her bower That blooms by the dark Isere For the bridegroom who named the first hour Of day-dawn to meet her there : But the bridal morn on the hills is born x\.nd the bridegroom is not here. Hie thee hither, Savoyard, On subh an errand youth rides hard. Never knight so dutiful Maiden failed so beautiful : And she in such sweet need, And he so bold and true ! She will watch by the long green avenue Till it quakes to the tramp of his steed ; C4 CHRISTINE. Till it echoes the neigh of the gallant Grey Spurred to the top of his speed. In the dark, green, lonely avenue The Ladye her love-watch kcepeth, Listening so close that she can hear The very dripping of the dew Stirred by the worm as it creepeth ; Straining her ear For her lover's coming Till his steed seems near In the bee's far humming. She stands in the silent avenue, Her back to a cypress tree ; O Savoyard once bold and true, Late bridegroom, where canst thou be ? Hark ! o'er the bridge that spans the river There cometh a clattering tread, Never was shaft from mortal quiver Ever so swiftly sped. CIIKISTINE. 65 Onward tlie sound, Bound after bound, Leapetli along the tremulous ground. From the nodding forest darting, Leaves, like water, round them parting, Up the long green avenue, Horse and horseman burst in view. Many, what ails the bridegroom gay That he strideth a coal black steed, Why cometh he not on the gallant Grey That never yet failed him at need ? Gone is the white plume, that clouded his crest, And the love-scarf that lightly lay over his breast ; Dark is his shield as the raven's wing To the funeral banquet hurrying. Came ever knight in such sad array On the merry morn of his bridal day ? The Ladye .trembles,, and well she may ; Saints, you would think him a fiend astray. C6 CHRISTINE. A plunge, a pause, and, fast beside her, Stand the sable horse and rider. Alas, Christine, this shape of wrath In Palestine once crossed thy path ; His arm around thy waist, I trow, To bear thee to his saddle-bow, But thy Savoyard was there, In time to save, tho' not to smite, For the demon fled into the night From Miolan's matchless heir. Alas, Christine, that lance lies low Lies low on oaken bier ! Low bent the Wizard, till his plume O'ershadowed her like falling doom : She feels the cold casque touch her ear, She hears the whisper, hollow, clear, " From Acre's strand, from Holy Land, O'er mountain crag, through desert sand, CHEISTINE. 67 By land, by sea, I come for tliee, And mine ere sunset slialt tliou be ! Dost know me, girl ?" The visor raises God, 'tis the Knight of Pilate's Peak ! As if in wildered dream she gazes, Gazing as one who strives to shriek. She cannot fly, or speak, or stir, For that face of horror glares at her Like a phantom fresh from hell. She gave no answer, she made no moan ; Mute as a statue overthrown, Her fair face cold as carved stone, Swooning the maiden fell. The sun has climbed the golden hills And danceth down with the mountain rills. Over the meadow the swift beams run Lifting the flowers, one by one, 68 CHRISTINE. Sipping their chalices dry as they pass, And kissing the beads from the bending MT;I- The Dauphin's chateau, grand and grey, Glows merrily in the risen day; His castle that seemeth ancient as earth, Lights up like an old man in his mirth. Through the forest old, the sunbeams bold Their glittering revel keep, Till, in arrowy gold, on the chequered wold In glancing lines they sleep. And one sweet beam hath found its wny To the violet bank where the Ladye lay. O radiant touch! perchance so shone The hand that woke the widow's son. She sighs, she stirs ; the death-swoon breaks ; Life slowly fires those pallid lips ; And feebly, painfully, she wakes, Struggling through that dark eclipse. CHRISTINE. CO V Breathing fresh of Alpine snows, Breathing sweets of summer rose, \~J Murmuring songs of soft repose, The south wind on her bosom blows : But she heeds it not, she hears it not ; Fast she sits with steady stare, The dew-drops heavy on her hair, Her fingers clasped in dumb despair, Frozen to the spot: While o'er her fierce and fixed as fate, The fiend on his spectral war-horse sate. A horrible smile through the visor broke, And, quoth he, "I but watched till my Ladye woke. Get thee a flagon of Shiraz wine, For the lips must be red that answer mine !" Cleaving the woods, like the wind he went, His face o'er his shoulder backward bent, Crying thrice " "We shall meet at the Tourna ment !" 70 CHRISTINE. Clasping the cypress overhead, Christine rose from her fragrant bed, And a prayer to Mother Mary sped. Hold not those gleaming skies for her The same unfailing Comforter? And those two white winged cherubim, She once had seen, when Christmas hymn Chimed with the midnight mass, Scattering light through the chapel dim, Alive in the stained glass What fiend could harm a hair of her, While those arching wings took care of her 'i And our Ladye, Maid divine, Mother round whose marble shrine She wreathed the rose of Palestine So many sinless years, Will not heaven's maiden-mother Queen Regard her daughter's tears ? Yes ! through the forest stepping slow, Tranquil mistress of her woe, CHRISTINE. 71 Goeth the calm Christine ; And but for yonder spot of snow Upon each temple, none may know How stern a storm hath been. For never dawned a brighter day, And the Ladye smileth on her way, Greeting the blue-eyed morn at play "With earth in her spangled green. A single cloud Stole like a shroud Forth from the fading mists that hid The crest of each Alpine pyramid ; Unmovingly it lingers over The mountain castle of her lover ; While over Pilate's Peak Hangs the grey pall of the sullen smoke, Leaps the lithe flame of the ancient oak And the eagle soars with a shriek. Full well she knew the curse was near, But that heart of hers had done with fear. 72 CHRISTINE. By St. Antoine, not steadier stands Mont Blanc's white head in winter's whirl Thau that calm, fearless, smiling girl "With her bare brow upturned and firmly folded hands. - Back to her bower so fair Christine her way is wending; Over the dark Isere Silently she's bending, Thus communing with the stream, As one who whispers in a dream: " Waters that at sunset ran Round the Mount of Miolan ; Stream, that binds my love to me, Whisper where that lover be; Wavelets mine, what evil things Mingle with your murmurings; Tell me, ere ye glide away. Wherefore doth the bridegroom stay * CHKISTINE. 73 Ilath the fiend of Pilate's Met him, stayed him, slain him? speak ! Speak the worst a Bride may know, God hath armed my soul for woe ; Touching heaven, the virgin snow Is firmer than the rock below. Lies my love upon his bier, Answer, answer, dark Isere ! Hark, to the low voice of the river Singing ' Thy love is lost for ever /' AYeep with all thy icy fountains, Weep, ye cold, uncaring mountains, I have not a tear! Stream, that parts my love from me, Bear this bridal rose with thee; Bear it to the happy hearted, Christine and all the flowers have parted !" They are coming from the castle, A bevy of bright-eyed girls, 74 CHRISTINE. Some with tlieir long locks braided, Some with loose golden curls. Merrily 'mid the meadows They win their wilful way ; "Winding through sun and shadow. Rivulets at play. Brows with white rosebuds blowing, Necks with white pearl entwined, Gowns whose white folds imprison Wafts of the wandering wind. The boughs of the charmed woodland Sing to the vision sweet, The daisies that crouch in the clover JTod to their twinkling feet. They see Christine by the river, And, deeming the bridegroom near. They wave her a dewy rose-wreath Fresh plucked for her dark brown hair. Hand in hand tripping to meet her, Birdlike they carol their joy, ClIlilSTINE. 75 "Wedding soft Provengal numbers To a dulcet old strain of Savoy. THE GREETING. Sister, standing at Love's golden gate, Life's second door Fleet the maidentime is flying, Friendship fast in love is dying, Bridal fate doth separate Friends evermore. Pilgrim, seeking with thy sandalled feet The land of Hiss ; Sire and sister tearless leaving, To thy beckoning palmer cleaving Truant sweet, once more repeat Our parting kiss. 7G CHRISTINE. Wanderer filling for enchanted isle Thy dimpling sail; Whither drifted, all uncaring, So with faithful helmsman faring, Stay and smile with us, awhile, Before the gale. Playmate, hark ! for aU that once was ours Soon rings the knett : Glade and thicket, glen and heather, Whisper sacredly togetJier ; Queen of ours, the very flowers Sigh forth farewell. Christine looked up, and smiling stood Among the choral sisterhood : But some who sprang to greet her, stayed Tiptoe, with the speech unsaid ; And, each the other, none knew why, Questioned with quick, wondering eye, CHRISTINE. 77 One by one, their smiles have flown, No lip is laughing but her own ; And hers, the frozen smile that wears The glittering of unshed tears. "Ye have sung for me, I will sing for ye, My sisters fond and fair." And she bent her head till the chaplet fell Adown in the deep Isere. THE REPLY. Bring me no rose-wreath now : But come when sunsefs first tears fall, When night-birds from the mountain call Then hind my hrow. Roses and lilies white But tarry till the glow-worms trail Their gold-work o'er the spangled veil Of falling night. 78 CHRISTINE. Twine not your garland fair Till I have fallen fast asleep Then to my silent pillow creep And leave it there There in the chapel yard! Come with twilights earliest hush. Just as day's last purple flush Forsakes the sward. Stop wJiere the white cross stands. You'll find me in my wedding suit. Lying motionless and mute, With folded hands. Tenderly to my side: TJie bridegroom'* form you may not see In the dim eve, but he wiU be Fast by his bride. CHRISTINE. 79 Soft with your clmplet move, And lightly lay it on my head: Be sure you wake not with rude tread My jealous love, Iiss me, then quick away / And leave us, in unwatched repose. With the lily and the rose Waiting for day! But hark ! the cry of the clamorous horn Smites the bright stillness of the morn. From moated wall, from festal hall The banners beckon, the bugles call ; Already flames, in the lists unrolled O'er -the Dauphin's tent, the Dolphin gold. A hundred knights in armor glancing, Hurry afield with pennons dancing, 80 CHEISTINE. Eacli with a vow to splinter a lance For Christine, the Lily of Provence. " Haste !" cried Christine ; " Sisters, we tarry late, Let not the tourney wait For its Queen!" And, toward the castle gate, They take their silent way along the green. THE FOURTH S o ^ G. THE FOURTH SONG. i. Amid the gleam of princely war Christine sat like the evening star, Pale in the sunset's pageant bright, A separate and sadder light O bitter task To rear aloft that shining head, While round thee, cruel whisperers ask " Marry, what aileth the Bridegroom gay ? The heralds have waited as long as they may, Yet never a sign of the gallant Grey. Is Miolan false or dead ?" 84 CHRISTINE. II. The Dauphin eyed Christine askance: " We have tarried too long," quoth he ; " Doth the Savoyard fear the thrust of France ? By the Bride of Heaven, no laggard lance Shall ever have guard of thee !" You could see the depths of the dark eyes shine And a glow on the marble cheek, As she whispered, "Woe to the Dauphin's line When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine Round the towers of Pilate's Peak." She levelled her white hand toward the west, Where the omen beacon shone ; And he saw the flame on the castle crest, And a livid glare light the mountain's breast Even down to tho rushing Rhone. CHRISTINE. 85 Never braver lord in all the land Than that Dauphin true and tried ; But the rein half fell from his palsied hand And his fingers worked at the jewelled brand That shook in its sheath at his side. For it came with a curse from earliest time, It was carved on his father's halls, It had haunted him ever from clime to clime, And at last the red light of the ancient rhyme Is burning on Pilate's walls! Yet warrior-like beneath his feet Trampling the sudden fear, lie cried, "Let thy lover's foot be fleet If thy Savoyard would wed thee, sweet, By Saint Mark, he were better here ! " For I know by yon light there is danger near, And I swear by the Holy Shrine, 8G C IT E I S T I N E . Be it virgin spear or Miolan's heir, Tlie victor to-day shall win and wear This menaced daughter of mine!" The lists are aflame with the gold and steel Of knights in their proud array, And gong and tymbalon chiming peal As forward the glittering squadrons wheel To the jubilant courser's neigh. The Dauphin sprang to the maiden's side, And thrice aloud cried he, "Ride, gallants all, for beauty ride, Christine herself is the victor's bride, Whoever the victor be !" And thrice the heralds cried it aloud, While a wondering whisper ran From the central lists to the circling crowd, For all knew the virgin hand was vowed To the heir of Miolan. CHRISTINE. 87 Quick at the Dauphin's plighted word Full many an eye flashed fire, Full many a knight took a truer sword, Tried buckle and girth, and many a lord Chose a stouter lance from his squire. Back to the barrier's measured bound Each gallant speedeth away; Then, forwafd fast to the trumpet's sound, A hundred horsemen shake the ground And meet in the mad melee. Crimson the spur and crimson the spear, The blood of the brave flows fast ; But Christine is deaf to the dying prayer, Blind to the dying eyes that glare On her as they look their last. She sees but a Black Knight striking so well That the bravest shun his path; 88 CHRISTINE. His name or his nation none may tell, But wherever he struck a victim fell At the feet of that shape of wrath. " 'Fore God," quoth the Dauphin, " that unknown sword Is making a merry day !" But where, oh where is the Savoyard, For low in the slime of thfit trampled sward Lie the flower of the Dauphin" ee ! And the victor stranger rideth alone, "Wiping his bloody blade ; And now that to meet him there is none, Now that the warrior work is done, He maveth toward the maid. Sternly, as if he came to kill, Toward the damsel he turncth his rein; CHRISTINE. 89 His trumpet sounding a challenge shrill, While the fatal lists of La Sone are still As he paces the purple plain. A hollow voice through the visor cried, " Mount to the crupper with me. Mount, Ladye, mount to thy master's side, For 'tis said and 'tis sworn thou shalt be the Bride Of the victor, whoever he be." At sound of that voice a sudden flame Shot out from the Dauphin's eyes, And he said, "Sir Knight, ere we grant thy claim, Let us see the face, let us hear the name, Of the gallant who winneth the prize/' " 'Tis a name you know and a face you fear," The "Wizard Knight began; 90 CHRISTINE. "Or hast thou forgotten that midnight drear, "When my sleeping fathers felt the spear Of Vienne and Miolan ? " Ay, quiver and quail in thy coat of mail, For hark to the eagle's shriek ; See the red light burns for the coming bale!" And all knew as he lifted his aventaylc The Knight of Pilate's Peak. From the heart of the mass rose a cry of wrath As they sprang at the shape abhorred, But he swept the foremost from his path, And the rest fell back from the fatal swath Of that darkly dripping sword. But uprose the Dauphin brave and bold, And strode out upon the green, CHRISTINE. 91 AM quoth he, "Foul fiend, if my purpose hold, By my halidome, tlio' I be passing old, "We'll splinter a lance for Christine. " Since her lovers are low or recreant, Her champion shall be her sire ; So get a fresh lance from yonder tent, For though my vigor be something spent I fear neither thee nor thy fire !" Swift to the stirrup the Dauphin he sprang, The bravest and best of his race : Xo bugle blast for the combat rang ; Save the clattering hoof and the armor clang, All was still as each rode to his place. With the crash of an April avalanche They meet in that merciless tilt ; 92 CHRISTINE. Back went each steed with shivering haunch, Back to the croup bent each rider staunch, Shivered each spear to the hilt. Thrice flies the Baron's battle-axe round The "Wizard's sable crest ; But the coal-black steed, with a sudden bound, Ilurled the old Crusader to the ground, And stamped on his mailed breast Thrice by the vengeful war-horse spurned, Lowly the Dauphin lies ; While the Black Knight laughed as again he turned Toward the lost Christine, and his visor burned As he gazed at his beautiful prize. Her doom you might read in that gloating stare, But no fear in the maid can you see ; CIIEISTINE. 93 Nor is it the calm of a dumb despair, For hope sits aglow on her forehead fair, And she murmurs, "At last it is he !" Proudly the maiden hath sprung from her seat, Proudly she glanceth around, One hand on her bosom to stay its beat, For hark ! there 's a sound like the flying feet Of a courser, bound after bound. Clearing the lists with a leopard-like spring, Plunging at top of his speed, Swift o'er the ground as a bird on the wing. There bursts, all afoam, through the wondering ring, A gallant but riderless steed. Arrow-like straight to the maiden he sped, With a long, loud, tremulous neigh, 94 CHRISTINE. The rein flying loose round his glorious head, While all whisper again, "L? the Savoyard dead?' As they gaze at the riderless Grey. One sharp, swift pang thro' the virgin heart, One wildering cry of woe, Then fleeter than dove to her calling nest, Lighter than chamois to Malaval's crest She leaps to the saddle bow. " Away !" lie knew the sweet voice ; away, "With never a look behind; Away, away, with echoing neigh Aijd streaming mane, goes the gallant Grey, Like an eagle before the wind. They have cleared the lists, they have passed her bower, And still they aiv thundering on ; CHRISTINE. 95 They are over the bridge another hour, A league behind them the Leaning Tower And the spires of Saint Antoine. Away, away in their wild career Past the slopes of Mont Surjeu ; Thrice have they swum the swift Isere, And firm and clear in the purple air Soars the Grand Som full in view. Rough is their path and sternly steep, Yet halting never a whit, Onward the terrible pace they keep, While the good Grey, breathing free and deep, Steadily strains at the bit. They have left the lands where the tall hemp springs, Where the clover bends to the bee ; 00 CHRISTINE. They liavc left the hills where the red vine flings Her clustered curls of a thousand rings Round the arms of the mulberry tree. They have left the lands where the walnut lines The roads, and the chestnuts blow ; Beneath them the thread of the cataract shines, Around them the plumes of the warrior pines, Above them the rock and the snow. Thick on his shoulders the foam flakes lay, Fast the big drops roll from his chest, Yet on, ever on, goes the gallant Grey, Bearing the maiden as smoothly as spray Asleep on the ocean's breast. Onward and upward, bound after bound, By Bruno's Bridge he goes; CHRISTINE. 97 And now they are treading holy ground, For the feet of her flying Caliph sound By the cells of the Grand Chartreuse. Around them the darkling cloisters frown, The sun in the valley hath sunk; When right in her path, lo ! the long white gown, The withered face and the shaven crown And the shrivelled hand of a monk. A light like a glittering halo played Round the brow of the holy man ; With lifted finger her course he stayed, "All is not well," the pale lips said, "With the heir of Miolan. "But in Chambery hangs a relic rare Over the altar stone : 5 98 CHRISTINE. Take it, and speed to thy Bridegroom's bier; If the Sacristan question who sent thee there, Say, ' Bruno, the Monk of Cologne.' " She bent to the mane while the cross ho signed Thrice o'er the suppliant head : " Away with thee, child !" and away like the wind She went, with a startled glance behind, For she heard an ominous tread. The moon is up, 'tis a glorious night, They are leaving the rock and the snow, Mont Blanc is before her, phantom white, While the swift Isere, with its line of light, Cleaves the heart of the valley below. But hark to the challenge, " Who rideth alone V "O warder, bid me not wait!-- CHRISTINE. .My lover lies dead and the Dauphin o'er- thrown A message I bear from the Monk of Co logne" And she swept thro' Chanibery's gate. The Sacristan kneeleth in midnight prayer By Chanibery's altar stone. " "NYhat meaneth this haste, my daughter fair ?" She stooped and murmured in his ear The name of the Monk of Cologne. Slowly he took from its jewelled case A kerchief that sparkled like snow, And the Minster shone like a lighted vase As the deacon unveiled the gleaming face Of the Santo Sudario. A prayer, a tear, and to saddle she springs, Clasping the relic bright ; 100 CHRISTINE. Awayj away, for the fell hoof rings Down the hillside behind her God give her wings ! The fiend and his horse are in sight. On, on, the gorge of the Doriat 's won, She is nearing her Savoyard's home, By the grand old road where the warrior son Of Ilanno swept with his legions dun, On his mission of 'hatred to Home. The ancient oaks seem to rock and reel As the forest rushes by her, But nearer cometh the clash of steel, And nearer falleth the fatal heel, "With its flickering trail of fire. Then first the brave young heart grew sick 'Neath its load of love and fear, CHRISTINE. 101 For the Grey is breathing faint and quick, And his nostrils burn and the drops fall thick From the point of each drooping ear. His glorious neck hath lost its pride, His back fails beneath her weight, "While steadily gaining, stride by stride, The Black Knight thunders to her side Heaven, must she meet her fate? She shook the loose rein o'er the trembling head, She laid her soft hand on his mane, She called him her Caliph, her desert-bred, She named the sweet springs where the palm trees spread Their arms o'er the burning plain. But the Grey looked back and sadly scanned The maid with his earnest eyes 102 CHRISTINE. A moment more and her cheek is fanned "By the black steed's breath, and the demon hand Stretches out for the virgin prize. But she calls on Christ, and the kerchief white Waves full in the face of her foe : Back with an oath reeled the "Wizard Knight As his steed crouched low in the wondrous light Of the Santo Sudario. Blinded they halt while the maiden hies, The murmuring Arc she can hear, And, lo ! like a cloud on the shining skies, Atop of yon perilous precipice, The castle of Miolan's Heir. " Fail not, my steed !" Eound her Caliph's head The relic shines like the sun: CHRISTINE. 103 Leap after leap up the spiral steep, lie speeds to liis master's castle keep, And his glorious race is won. " Ho, warder !" At sight of the gallant Grey The drawbridge thundering falls: "Wide goes the gate at that jubilant neigh, And, glory to God for his mercy to-day, She is safe within Miolan's walls. THE FIFTH THE FIFTH SONG. In the dim grey dawn by Miolan's gate The fiend on his wizard war-horse sate. The fair-haired maid at his trumpet call Creeps weeping and wan to the outer wall : u My curse on thy venom, my curse on thy spell, They have slain the master I loved too well. Thou saidst he should wake when the joust was o'er, But oh, he never will waken more !" She tore her fair hair, while the demon laughed, Saying, "Sound was the sleep that thy lover quaffed ; But bid the warder unbar the gate, That the lost Christine may meet her fate." 108 CHRISTINE. II. " Hither, hither thou mailed man With those woman's tears in thine eyes, With thy brawny cheek all wet and wan, Show me the heir of Miolan, Lead where my Bridegroom lies." And he led her on with a sullen tread, That fell like a muffled groan, Through halls as silent as the dead, 'Neath long grey arches overhead, Till they came to the shrine of Moan. What greets her there by the torches' glare? In vain hath the mass been said! Low bends the sire in mute despair, Low kneels the Hermit in silent prayer, Between them the mighty dead. CHRISTINE. 109 No tear she shed, no word she spoke, Bat gliding up to the bier, She took her stand by the bed of oak "Where her Savoyard lay in his sable cloak, His hand still fast on his spear. She bent her burning cheek to his, And rested it there awhile, Then touched his lips with a lingering- kiss, And whispered him thrice, " My love, arise, I have come for thee many a mile !" The man of God and the ancient Knight Arose in tremulous awe; She was so beautiful, so bright, So spirit-like in her bridal white, It seemed in the dim funereal light 'Twas an angel that they saw. 110 CHRISTINE. " Thro' forest fell, o'er mount and dell, Like the falcon, hither I've flown, For I knew that>a fiend was loose from hell, And I bear a token to break this spell From Bruno, the Monk of Cologne. " Dost thou know it, love ? when fire and sword Flamed round the Holy Shrine, It was won by thee from the Paynim horde, It was brought by thee to Bruno's guard, A gift from Palestine. " "Wake, wake, my love ! In the name of Grace, That hath known our uttermost woe, Lo ! this thorn-crowned brow on thine I place !" And, once more revealed, shone the wondrous face Of the Santo Sudario. At once over all that ancient hall There went a luminous beam ; CHRISTINE. Ill Heaven's deepest radiance seemed to fall, The helmets shine on the shining wall, And the faded banners gleam. And the chime of hidden cymbals rings To the song of a cherub choir ; Each altar angel waves his wings, And the flame of each altar taper springs Aloft in a luminous spire. And over the face of the youth there broke A smile both stern and sweet ; Slowly he turned on the bed of oak, And proudly folding his sable cloak Around him, sprang to his feet. Back shrank the sire, half terrified, Both he and the Hermit, I ween ; 112 CHRISTINE. But she she is fast to her Savoyard's side, A poet's dream, a warrior's bride, Ilis beautiful Christine. Her hair's dark tangles all astray Adown her back and breast ; The print of the rein on her hand still lay, The foam-flakes of the gallant Grey Scarce dry on her heaving breast. She told the dark tale and how she spurred From the Knight of Pilate's Peak ; You scarce would think the Bridegroom heard, Save that the mighty lance-head stirred, Save fgr the flush in his cheek ; Save that his gauntlet clasped her hair And oh. the look that swept CHRISTINE. 113 Between them ! all the radiant air Grew holier it was like a prayer And they who saw it wept. E'en the lights on the altar brighter grew In the gleam of that heavenly gaze ; The cherub music fell soft as dew, The breath of the censer seemed sweeter too, The torches mellowed their requiem hue, And burnt with a bridal blaze. And the Baron clasps his son with a cry Of joy as his sorrows cease ; While the Hermit, wrapt in his Rosary, Feels that the world beneath the sky Hath yet its planet of peace. But hark ! by the drawbridge, shrill and clear, A trumpet's challenge rude ; CHRISTINE. The heart of Christine grew faint with fear, But the Savoyard shook his mighty spear, And the blood in his forehead stood. " Beware, beware, 'tis the Fiend !" quoth she : "Whither now?" asks the ancient Knight, " "What meanest thou, boy ? Leave the knave tc me: Wizard, or fiend, or whatever he be, By the bones of my fathers, he shall flee Or ne'er look on morning light. " What, thou just risen from the grave, Atilt with an armed man ? Dost dream that youth alone is brave, Dost deem these sinews too old to save The honor of MiolanT But the youth he answered with gentlest tone. "I know thec a warrior staunch, CHRISTINE. 115 But this meeting is meant for me alone. o Unhand me, my lord, have I woman grown ? "Wouldst stop the rushing of the Ehone, Or stay the avalanche ?" lie broke from his sire as breaks the flash From the soul of the circling storm : You could hear the grasp of his gauntlet crash On his quivering lance and the armor clash Hound that tall young warrior form. " Be this thy shield ?" the maiden cried, Her hand on the kerchief of snow; " If forth to the combat thou wilt ride, Face to face be the Fiend defied With the Santo Sudario !" But the young Knight laid the relic rare On the ancient altar- stone ; 11G CIIEISTINE. " Holy weapons to men of prayer, Lance in rest and falcliion bare Must answer for Miolan's son." Again the challenger's trumpet pealed From the barbican, shrill and clear ; And the Savoyard reared his dinted shield Its motto, gold on an azure field " ALLES zu GOTT UND IHK." To horse ! From the hills the dawning day Looks down on the sleeping plain; In the court-yard waiteth the gallant Grey, And the castle rings with a joyous neigh As the Knight and his steed meet again. And the coal-black charger answers him 117" From the level space, where dark and dim In the morning mists, like giant grim, The Fiend on his war-horse sate. Oh, the men at arms how they stared aghast "When the Heir of Miolan leapt To saddle-bow sounding his bugle-blast ; How the startled warder breathless gasped, How the hoary old seneschal wept ! And the fair-haired maid with a sob hath sprung To the lifted bridle rein ; Fast to his knee her white arms clung, While the waving gold of her fair hair hung Mixed with Grey Caliph's mane. k ' O Miolan's heir, O master mine, O more than heaven adored, 118 CHRISTINE. Live to forget this slave of tliine, Wed the dark-eyed Maid of Palestine, But dare not yon demon sword !" But the Baron thundered, " Off with the slave !" And they tore the white arms away, " A woman 's a curse in the path of the brave ; Level thy lance and upon the knave, For he laughs at this fool delay ! "But pledge me first in this beaker bright Of foaming Cyprian wine ; Thou hast fasted, God wot, like an anchorite, Thy cheeks and brow are a trifle white, And, 'fore heaven, thou shall bear thee in this fight As beseemeth son of mine !" The youth drank deep of the burning juice Of the mighty Maretel, CimiSTINE. 119 Then, waving his hand to his Ladye thrice. Swifter than snow from the precipice, Spurred full on the infidel. " O Bridegroom bold, beware my brand !" The Knight of Pilate cries, " For 'tis written in blood by Eblis' hand, No mortal might may mine withstand Till the dead in arms arise." " The dead are up, and in arms arrayed, They have come at the call of fate : Two days, two nights, as thou Imow'st, I've laid On oaken bier" and again there played That halo light round the Mother Maid In the niche by the castle gate. Each warrior reared his shining targe, Each plumed helmet bent, 120 C II KISTINE. Each lance thrown forward for the charge, Each steed reined back to the very marge Of the mountain's sheer descent. The rock beneath them seemed to groan And shudder as they met; Away the splintered lance is thrown, Each falchion in the morning shone, One blade uncrimsoned yet. But the blood must flow and that blade must glow E'er their deadly work be done; Steel rang to steel, blow answered blow, From dappled dawn till the Alpine snow Grew red in the risen sun. The Bridegroom's sword left a lurid trail, So fiercely and fleetly it flew; CHRISTINE. 121 It rang like the rattling of the hail, And wherever it fell the sable mail "Was wet with a ghastly dew. The Baron, watching with stern delight, Felt the heart in his bosom swell ; And quoth he, "By the mass, a gallanl sight ! These old eyes have gazed on many a fight, But, boy, as I live, never saw I knight Who did his devoir so well !" And oh, the flush o'er his face that broke, The joy of his shining eyes, When, backward beaten, stroke by stroke-, The Wizard reeled, like a falling oak, Toward the edge of the .precipice. On the trembling verge of that perilous steep The demon stood at bay, 6 122 CHRIST IXE. Calling with challenge stem and deep, That startled the inmost castle keep, k * Daughter of mine, here's a dainty leap TTe.must take together to-day. " Come, maiden, come !" Swift circling round, Like bird in the serpent's gaze, She sprang to his side with a single bound, "While the black steed trampled the flinty ground To fire, his nostrils ablaze. " Farewell 1" went the fair-haired maiden's cry, Shrilling from hill to hill; "Farewell, farewell, it was I, 'twas I, AVho sinned in a jealous agony, But I loved the* too well to kill !" High reared the steed with the hapless pair, A plunge, a pause, a shriek, A black plume loose in the middle air, CHRISTINE A foaming plasli in the dark Isere, Thus vanished for ever the maiden fair And the Knight of Pilate's Peak. A mighty cheer shook the ancient halls, A white hand waved in the sun, The vassals all on the outer wall Clashed their arms at the brave old Baron's call, " To my arms, mine only one !" But oh, what aileth the gallant Grey, Why droopeth the barbed head ? Slowly he turned from that fell tourney And proudly breathing a long, last neigh, At the castle gate fell dead. 121 CHRISTINE. III. Lost to all else, forgotten e'en The dark eyes of his dear Christine, His fleet foot from the stirrup freed, The Knight knelt by his fallen steed. Awhile with tone and touch of love To cheer him to his feet he strove : Awhile he shook the bridle-rein That glazing eye ! alas, in vain. Bareheaded on that fatal field, His gauntlet ringing on his shield, His voice a torrent deep and strong, The warrior's soul broke forth in son