They had less of mastery to shake her now,
Than the quivering, erewhile, of an aspen bough.
She search'd into many an unclosed eye,
That look'd, without soul, to the starry sky;
She bow'd down o'er many a shatter'd breast,
She lifted up helmet and cloven crest-
Not there, not there he lay!
"Lead where the most hath been dared and done, Where the heart of the battle hath bled,-lead on!" And the vassal took the way.
He turn'd to a dark and lonely tree
That waved o'er a fountain red;
Oh! swiftest there had the currents free,
From noble veins been shed.
Thickest there the spear-heads gleam'd,
And the scatter'd plumage stream'd,
And the broken shields were toss'd,
And the shiver'd lances cross'd,
And the mail-clad sleepers round
Made the harvest of that ground.
He was there! the leader amidst his band,
Where the faithful had made their last vain stand;
He was there! but affection's glance alone
The darkly-changed in that hour had known;
With the falchion yet in his cold hand grasp'd,
And a banner of France to his bosom clasp'd,
And the form that of conflict bore fearful trace,
And the face-oh! speak not of that dead face!
As it lay to answer love's look no more,
Yet never so proudly loved before!
She quell'd in her soul the deep floods of woe,
The time was not yet for their waves to flow;
She felt the full presence, the might of death,
Yet there came no sob with her struggling breath,
And a proud smile shone o'er her pale despair,
As she turn'd to his followers-"Your Lord is there!
Look on him! know him by scarf and crest!-
Bear him away with his sires to rest!"
Another day-another night—
And the sailor on the deep
Hears the low chant of a funeral rite
From the lordly chapel sweep:
It comes with a broken and muffled tone,
As if that rite were in terror done;
Yet the song 'midst the seas hath a thrilling power,
And he knows 'tis a chieftain's burial hour.
Hurriedly, in fear and woe,
Through the aisle the mourners go;
With a hush'd and stealthy tread,
Bearing on the noble dead,
Sheathed in armour of the field
Only his wan face reveal'd,
Whence the still and solemn gleam
Doth a strange sad contrast seem
To the anxious eyes of that pale band,
With torches wavering in every hand,
For they dread each moment the shout of war,
And the burst of the Moslem scimitar.
There is no plumed head o'er the bier to bend,
No brother of battle, no princely friend;
No sound comes back like the sounds of yore,
Unto sweeping swords from the marble floor;
By the red fountain the valiant lie,
The flower of Provençal chivalry,
But one free step, and one lofty heart,
Bear through that scene, to the last, their part.
She hath led the death-train of the brave
To the verge of his own ancestral grave;
She hath held o'er her spirit long rigid sway,
But the struggling passion must now have way.
In the cheek, half seen through her mourning veil,
By turns does the swift blood flush and fail;
The pride on the lip is lingering still,
But it shakes as a flame to the blast might thrill;
Anguish and Triumph are met at strife,
Rending the chords of her frail young life;
And she sinks at last on her warrior's bier,
Lifting her voice, as if Death might hear.-
"I have won thy fame from the breath of wrong, My soul hath risen for thy glory strong!
Now call me hence, by thy side to be,
The world thou leavest has no place for me.
The light goes with thee, the joy, the worth-
Faithful and tender! Oh! call me forth!
Give me my home on thy noble heart,-
Well have we loved, let us both depart!"
And pale on the breast of the dead she lay,
The living cheek to the cheek of clay;
CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.
The living cheek!-Oh! it was not vain,
That strife of the spirit to rend its chain;
She is there at rest in her place of pride,
In death how queen-like—a glorious bride!
Joy for the freed One!-she might not stay
When the crown had fallen from her life away;
She might not linger-a weary thing,
A dove, with no home for its broken wing,
Thrown on the harshness of alien skies,
That know not its own land's melodies.
From the long heart-withering early gone;
She hath lived—she hath loved-her task is done!
CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.
Tableau, où l'Amour fait alliance avec la Tombe: union redoutable de la mort et de la vie!
THERE was music on the midnight ;-
From a royal fane it roll'd,
And a mighty bell, each pause between,
Sternly and slowly toll'd.
Strange was their mingling in the sky,
It hush'd the listener's breath;
For the music spoke of triumph high,
The lonely bell, of death.
Of slumbering waters wafted, or the dells
Of mountains, hollow with sweet echo-cells;
But, as they murmur'd on, the mortal chill
Pass'd from me, like a mist before the morn,
And to that glorious intercourse upborne,
By slow degrees, a calm, divinely still,
Possess'd my frame:-I sought that lighted eye,—
From its intense and searching purity
I drank in soul!-I question'd of the dead-
Of the hush'd, starry shores their footsteps tread-
And I was answer'd:-if remembrance there,
With dreamy whispers fill the immortal air;
If Thought, here piled from many a jewel-heap,
Be treasure in that pensive land to keep;
If Love, o'ersweeping change, and blight, and blast,
Find there the music of his home at last;
I ask'd and I was answer'd;- Full and high
Was that communion with eternity,
Too rich for aught so fleeting!—Like a knell
Swept o'er my sense its closing words,-"Farewell,
On earth we meet no more!"-and all was gone-
The pale bright settled brow-the thrilling tone-
The still and shining eye!—and never more
May twilight gloom or midnight hush restore
That radiant guest!-One full-fraught hour of Heaven,
To earthly passion's wild implorings given,
Was made my own-the ethereal fire hath shiver'd
The fragile censer in whose mould it quiver'd,
Brightly, consumingly!— What now is left?-
A faded world, of glory's hues bereft,
A void, a chain!-I dwell 'midst throngs, apart,
In the cold silence of the stranger's heart;
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