The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 54

And the coal-black charger answers him From the s.p.a.ce beyond the gate, From the level s.p.a.ce, where dark and dim In the morning mists, like giant grim, The Fiend on his war-horse sate.

Oh, the men at arms how they stared aghast When the Heir of Miolan leapt To saddle-bow sounding his bugle-blast; How the startled warder breathless gasped.

How the h.o.a.ry old seneschal wept!

And the fair-haired maid with a sob hath sprung To the lifted bridle rein; Fast to his knee her white arms clung, While the waving gold of her fair hair hung Mixed with Grey Caliph's mane.

"O Miolan's heir, O master mine, O more than heaven adored, Live to forget this slave of thine, Wed the dark-eyed Maid of Palestine, But dare not yon demon sword!"

But the Baron thundered, "Off with the slave!"

And they tore the white arms away, "A woman 's a curse in the path of the brave; Level thy lance and upon the knave, For he laughs at this fool delay!

"But pledge me first in this beaker bright Of foaming Cyprian wine; Thou hast fasted, G.o.d wot, like an anchorite.

Thy cheeks and brow are a trifle white, And, 'fore heaven, thou shall bear thee in this fight As beseemeth son of mine!"

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The youth drank deep of the burning juice Of the mighty Maretel, Then, waving his hand to his Ladye thrice, Swifter than snow from the precipice, Spurred full on the infidel.

"O Bridegroom bold, beware my brand!"

The Knight of Pilate cries, "For 'tis written in blood by Eblis' hand, No mortal might may mine withstand Till the dead in arms arise."

"The dead are up, and in arms arrayed, They have come at the call of fate: Two days, two nights, as thou know'st, I've laid On oaken bier"--and again there played That halo light round the Mother Maid In the niche by the castle gate.

Each warrior reared his shining targe, Each plumed helmet bent.

Each lance thrown forward for the charge, Each steed reined back to the very marge Of the mountain's sheer descent.

The rock beneath them seemed to groan And shudder as they met; Away the splintered lance is thrown, Each falchion in the morning shone, One blade uncrimsoned yet

But the blood must flow and that blade must glow E'er their deadly work be done; Steel rang to steel, blow answered blow, From dappled dawn till the Alpine snow Grew red in the risen sun.

The Bridegroom's sword left a lurid trail, So fiercely and fleetly it flew; It rang like the rattling of the hail, And wherever it fell the sable mail Was wet with a ghastly dew.

The Baron, watching with stern delight, Felt the heart in his bosom swell: And quoth he, "By the ma.s.s, a gallant sight!

These old eyes have gazed on many a fight, But, boy, as I live, never saw I knight Who did his devoir so well!"

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And oh, the flush o'er his face that broke, The joy of his shining eyes, When, backward beaten, stroke by stroke, The wizard reeled, like a falling oak, Toward the edge of the precipice.

On the trembling verge of that perilous steep The demon stood at bay.

Calling with challenge stern and deep, That startled the inmost castle keep, "Daughter of mine, here's a dainty leap We must take together to-day.

"Come, maiden, come!" Swift circling round, Like bird in the serpent's gaze, She sprang to his side with a single bound.

While the black steed trampled the flinty ground To fire, his nostrils ablaze.

"Farewell!" went the fair-haired maiden's cry, Shrilling from hill to hill; "Farewell, farewell, it was I, 'twas I, Who sinned in a jealous agony, But I loved thee too well to kill!"

High reared the steed with the hapless pair, A plunge, a pause, a shriek, A black plume loose in the middle air, A foaming plash in the dark Isere,-- Thus banished for ever the maiden fair And the Knight of Pilate's Peak.

A mighty cheer shook the ancient halls, A white hand waved in the sun, The va.s.sals all on the outer wall Clashed their arms at the brave old Baron's call, "To my arms, mine only one!"

But oh, what aileth the gallant Grey, Why droopeth the barbed head?

Slowly he turned from that fell tourney And proudly breathing a long, last neigh, At the castle gate fell dead.

III.

Lost to all else, forgotten e'en The dark eyes of his dear Christine, His fleet foot from the stirrup freed, The Knight knelt by his fallen steed.

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Awhile with tone and touch of love To cheer him to his feet he strove: Awhile he shook the bridle-rein-- That glazing eye!--alas, in vain.

Bareheaded on that fatal field.

His gauntlet ringing on his shield, His voice a torrent deep and strong, The warrior's soul broke forth in song.

THE KNIGHT'S SONG

And art thou, _art_ thou dead,-- Thou with front that might defy The gathered thunders of the sky.

Thou before whose fearless eye All death and danger fled!

My Khalif, hast thou sped Homeward where the palm-trees' feet Bathe in hidden fountains sweet, Where first we met as lovers meet, My own, my desert-bred!

Thy back has been my home; And, bending o'er thy flying neck, Its white mane waving without speck, I seemed to tread the galley's deck.

And cleave the ocean's foam.

Since first I felt thy heart Proudly surging 'neath my knee, As earthquakes heave beneath the sea, Brothers in the field were we; And must we, _can_ we part?

To match thee there was none!

The wind was laggard to thy speed: O G.o.d, there is no deeper need Than warrior's parted from his steed When years have made them one.

And shall I never more Answer thy laugh amid the clash Of battle, see thee meet the flash Of spears with the proud, pauseless dash Of billows on the sh.o.r.e?

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And all our victor war, And all the honors men call mine, Were thine, thou voiceless warrior, thine; My task was but to touch the rein-- There needed nothing more.

Worst danger had no sting For thee, and coward peace no charm; Amid red havoc's worst alarm Thy swoop as firm as through the storm The eagle's iron wing.

O more than man to me!

Thy neigh outsoared the trumpet's tone.

Thy back was better than a throne, There was no human thing save one I loved as well as thee!

O Knighthood's truest friend!

Brave heart by every danger tried, Proud crest by conquest glorified.

Swift saviour of my menaced Bride, Is this, is _this_ the end?--

Thrice honored be thy grave!

Wherever knightly deed is sung.