The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 53

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Blinded they halt while the maiden hies, The murmuring Arc she can hear, And, lo! like a cloud on the s.h.i.+ning skies, Atop of yon perilous precipice, The castle of Miolan's Heir.

"Fail not, my steed!"--Round her Caliph's head The relic s.h.i.+nes like the sun: Leap after leap up the spiral steep, He speeds to his 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 G.o.d for his mercy to-day, She is safe within Miolan's walls.

THE FIFTH SONG.

I.

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: "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."

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."

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And he led her on with a sullen tread.

That fell like a m.u.f.fled 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 ma.s.s been said!

Low bends the sire in mute despair, Low kneels the Hermit in silent prayer.

Between them the mighty dead.

No tear she shed, no word she spoke, But 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 G.o.d 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.

"Thro' forest fell, o'er mount and dell, Like the falcon, hither I've flown.

For I knew that a fiend was loose from h.e.l.l, 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-bound brow on thine I place!"

And, once more revealed, shone the wondrous face Of the Santo Sudario.

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At once over all that ancient hall There went a luminous beam; Heaven's deepest radiance seemed to fall, The helmets s.h.i.+ne on the s.h.i.+ning 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; But she--she is fast to her Savoyard's side, A poet's dream, a warrior's bride, His 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 for the flush in his cheek;

Save that his gauntlet clasped her hair-- And oh, the look that swept 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.

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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: 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 to 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 Miolan?"

But the youth he answered with gentlest tone, "I know thee a warrior staunch.

But this meeting is meant for me alone.

Unhand me, my lord, have I woman grown?

Wouldst stop the rus.h.i.+ng of the Rhone, Or stay the avalanche?"

He 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 Round that tall young warrior form.

"Be this thy s.h.i.+eld?" 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; "Holy weapons to men of prayer.

Lance in rest and falchion bare Must answer for Miolan's son."

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Again the challenger's trumpet pealed From the barbican, shrill and clear; And the Savoyard reared his dinted s.h.i.+eld, Its motto, gold on an azure field-- "ALLES ZU GOTT UND IHR."

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.