THE KNIGHT'S SONG.
The night was dark, and the way was lone,
But a knight was riding there;
And on his breast the red-cross shone,
Though his helmet's haughty crest upon
Was a lock of a lady's hair.
His beaver was up, and his cheek was pale
His beard was of auburn brown;
And as night was his suit of darksome mail,
And his eye was as keen as the wintry gale,
And as cold was his wintry frown.
Oh! sad were the tidings thy brow to shade,
Sad to hear and sad to tell;
That thy love was false to the vows she had made,
That her truth was gone, and thy trust betray'd
By her thou lovest so well.
Now fast, good knight, on thy coal-black steed,
That knows his lord's command,
For the hour is coming with fearful speed
When her soul the lady shall stain with the deed,
And give to another her hand.
In the chapel of yon proud towers 'tis bright,
'Tis bright at the altar there;
For around in the blaze of the tapers' light
Stand many a glittering, courtly knight,
And many a lady fair.
But why are there tears in the bride's bright eyes?
And why does the bridegroom frown?
And why to the priest are there no replies?
For the bitter drops, and the struggling sighs,
The lady's voice have drown'd.
That clang! that clang of an armed heel!
And what stately form is here?
His warlike limbs are clothed in steel,
And back the carpet heroes reel,
And the ladies shrink for fear.
And he caught the bride in his mailed arms,
And he raised his beaver high;
"Oh! thy tears, dear girl, are full of charms,
But hush thy bosom's vain alarms,
For thy own true knight is nigh!"
And he pull'd the gauntlet from his hand,
While he frown'd on the crowd around,
And he cast it down, and drew his brand,
"Now any who dare my right withstand,
Let him raise it from the ground."
But the knights drew back in fear and dread,
And the bride clung to his side;
And her father, lowly bending, said,
In the Holy Land they had deem'd him dead,
But by none was his right denied.
"Then now read on, sir priest," he cried,
"For this is my wedding-day;
Here stands my train on either side,
And here is a willing and lovely bride,
And none shall say me nay.
"For I'll make her the lady of goodly lands,
And of many a princely tower;
And of dames a train, and of squires a band,
Shall wait at their lady's high command,
In the Knight of de Morton's bower."
"Alack! alack!" cried Lady Katrine, as Sir Osborne concluded, "you are not a knight, but a nightingale. Well, never did I hear a man in armour chirrup so before! Nay, what a court must be that court of Burgundy! Why, an aviary would be nothing to it! But if the master sings so well," she continued, as Longpole entered, bearing in Sir Osborne's casque and shield, "the man must sing too. Bid him sing, fair knight, bid him sing; he will not refuse to pleasure a lady."
"Oh, no! I am always ready to pleasure a lady," answered Longpole; who, as he went along, though he had found it impossible to help making a little love to Mistress Geraldine, had, notwithstanding, noted with all his own shrewd wit the little coquettish ways of her mistress. "But give me no instrument, my lady, but my own whistle; for mine must not be pryck-song, but plain song."