THE BLAMELESS PRINCE.
PRELUDE.
Poet, wherefore hither bring
Old romance, while others sing
Sweeter idyls of to-day?
Why not picture in your lay
Western woods and waters grand,
Clouds and skies of this fair land?
Are there fairer far away?
I have many another song
Of those regions where belong,
First of all, my heart and home.
If for once my fancy roam,
Trust me, in the land I view
Falls the sunshine, falls the dew,
And the Spring and Summer come.
Why from yonder stubble glean
Ancient names of King and Queen,
Knightly men and maidens fair?
Are there in our time no rare
Beauteous women, heroes brave?
Is there naught this side the grave
Worth the dust you gather there?
Nay, but these were human too,
Strong or wayward, false or true.
Art will seek through every clime
For her picture or her rhyme;
Yes, nor looking far around,
But to-day I sought and found
These who lived in that old time.
Why should we again be told
Dross will mingle with all gold?
That which time nor test can stain
Was not smelted quite in vain.
What of Albert’s blameless heart,
Arthur’s old heroic part,
Saxon Alfred’s glorious reign?
Yes, my Prince was such as they,
Part of gold, and part of clay,
Though his metal shone as bright,
And his dross was hid from sight.
He who brightest is, and best,
Still may fear the secret test
That shall try his heart aright.
Let me, then, of what befell
Hearts that loved, my story tell.
Turn the leaf that lies between
You who listen and the scene!
Your pity for the Lady, since
She died of sorrow; spare my Prince;
Love to the last my gentle Queen!
