The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 5

"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.

"I watched the steed from pa.s.s to pa.s.s 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 me 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!'

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"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 the 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.

"But sharper than spear-thrust, I trow, Their wailing through me went; Stem silence suited best my woe, And, howe'er 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, thou 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!

"I sent for thee, thou man of G.o.d, 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!"

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III.

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.

When Miolan? heir lies on the bier, Low is the only lance I fear: I ride, I ride to win my Bride, Ho, Eblis, to thy servant's side.

Thou hast sworn no foe Shall lay me low Till the dead in arms against me ride!"

THE SECOND SONG.

I.

They pa.s.sed into an ancient hall With oaken arches spanned.

Full many a s.h.i.+eld 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 sh.e.l.ls whose crumbling cells Bestrew the beach.

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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.

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!"

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:

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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 ma.s.s be said, Toll forth the knell!"

"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.

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.