124 CŒUR DE LION. Where a king lay stately on his bier, in the church of Fontevraud: Banners of battle o'er him hung, and warriors slept beneath, And light, as noon's broad light, was flung on the settled face of death. On the settled face of death, a strong and ruddy glare, Though dimm'd at times by the censer's breath, yet it fell still brightest there; As if each deeply furrowed trace of earthly years to show, Alas! that sceptred mortal's race had surely closed in woe! The marble floor was swept by many a long dark stole, As the kneeling priests, 'round him that slept, sung mass for the parted soul; And solemn were the strains they poured through the stillness of the night, With the cross above, and the crown and sword, and the silent king in sight. There was heard a heavy clang as of steelgirt men the tread And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang with a sounding thrill of dread ; CŒUR DE LION. 125 And the holy chant was hushed awhile, as by the torches' flame, A gleam of arms up the sweeping aisle, with a mail-clad leader came. He came with haughty look, an eagle-glance and clear, But his proud heart through his breast-plate shook, when he stood beside the bier! He stood there still with a drooping brow, and clasped hands o'er it raised; For his father lay before him low-it was Cœur de Lion gazed. And silently he strove with the workings of his breast; But there's more in late repentant love than steel may keep suppress'd! And his tears brake forth at last like rain, men held their breath in awe, For his face was seen by his warrior train, and he recked not what they saw. He looked upon the dead, and sorrow seem'd to lie, A weight of sorrow, e'en like lead, pale on the fast shut eye; 126 CŒUR DE LION. He stooped and kiss'd that frozen cheek and heavy hand of clay, Till bursting words, yet all too weak, gave his soul's passion way. "Oh, father! is it vain this late remorse and deep? Speak to me, father,! once again! I weep, behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride, and ire! were but this work undone, 1 would give England's crown, my sire, to hear thee bless thy son! 'Speak to me; mighty grief ere now the dust hath stirr'd, Hear me, but hear me! father, chief, my king! I must be heard! Hushed, hushed! how is it that I call, and that thou answerest not? When was it thus ? woe, woe, for all the love my soul forgot. "Thy silver hairs I see so still, so sadly bright! And father father! but for me they had not been so white! NATURE'S TEACHINGS. 127 I bore thee down, high heart, at last, no longer could'st thou strive; Oh! for one moment of the past, to kneel, and say "forgive!" "Thou wert the noblest king, on a royal throne e'er seen, And thou didst wear in knightly ring of all the stateliest mien; And thoudid'st prove where spears are proved of all the bravest heart; Oh! ever the renowned and loved thou wert -and there thou art. "Thou that my boyhood's guide did'st take fond joy to be! The times I've sported at thy side, and climbed thy parent knee, And there before the blessed shrine, my sire, I see thee lie, How will that sad still face of thine look on me till I die? Mrs. Hemans. NATURE'S TEACHINGS. Nature never did betray The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, 128 NATURE'S TEACHING. Through all the years of this our life to lead men, Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all And let the misty mountain winds be free For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts Of tender joy wilt thou remember me, And these my exhortations. Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey. |