He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot, They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot; And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope! For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the brier, Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. Chap. XVII. NORMAN Saw on English oak, more, Till England's rid of all the four. Chap. XXVII. ULRICA sings: WHET the bright steel, Sons of the White Dragon! Kindle the torch, Daughter of Hengist! The black clouds are low over the thane's castle : The eagle screams-he rides on their bosom. Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, Thy banquet is prepared! The maidens of Valhalla look forth, The race of Hengist will send them guests. Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! And strike your loud timbrels for joy! Many a haughty step bends to your halls, Many a helmed head. Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, The black clouds gather round; The destroyer of forests shall shake Over the strife of the valiant; He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound! All must perish! The sword cleaveth the helmet ; The steel glimmers not for the carving The strong armour is pierced by the A VIRELAI. THE BLACK KNIGHT sings: ANNA-MARIE, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 'Tis time to arouse thee, love, AnnaMarie. THE JESTER responds: O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit; For what are the joys that in waking we prove, Compared with these visions, O Tybalt! my love? Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, But think not I dream'd of thee, Tybalt, my love. Chap. XL. So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, There for to sing their roundelay; The first was a knight, and from Tyne- For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly dale he came, Ever more sing the roundelay; And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, And where was the widow might say him nay? Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay; She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, For she was the widow would say him nay. Wamba alone.) The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, Merrily sing the roundelay; Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, And where was the widow might say him nay? Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay; She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way. rent, There ne'er was a widow could say him nay. Chap. XL. DIRGE FOR ATHELSTANE. DUST into dust, To this all must; The tenant hath resign'd The faded form To waste and wormCorruption claims her kind. Through paths unknown To seek the realms of woe, Where fiery pain Shall purge the stain Of actions done below. In that sad place, By Mary's grace, Brief may thy dwelling be! Till prayers and alms, And holy psalms, Shall set the captive free. Chap. XLII. THIS wandering race, sever'd from other men, Boast yet their intercourse with human arts; The seas, the woods, the deserts which they haunt, Find them acquainted with their secret treasures; And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, WHEN autumn nights were long and Display undream'd-of powers when drear, And forest walks were dark and dim, How sweetly on the pilgrim's car Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! Devotion borrows Music's tone, And Music took Devotion's wing, And, like the bird that hails the sun, gather'd by them. Chap. XXVIII. The Jew. They soar to heaven, and soaring Is wing'd to heaven by good men's TRUST me, each state must have its Of frank and harmless mirth forbade policies: raven he said, STERN was the law which bade its My beak shall ere morn in his blood vot'ries leave At human woes with human hearts to grieve; be red! For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, Stern was the law, which at the And I'll have my share with the pike winning wile and the eel.' |