THE LADY AND THE FLOWER.
There be of British arms and deeds
Who sing in noble strain,
Of Poitiers' field, and Agincourt,
And Cressy's bloody plain.
High tales of merry England,
Full often have been told,
For never wanted bard to sing
The adieus of the hold.
But now I tune another string,
To try my minstrel power,
My story of a gallant knight,
A lady, and a flower.
The noble sun, that shines on all,
The little or the great,
As bright on cottage doorway small,
As on the castle gate.
Came pouring over fair Guienne
From the far eastern sea;
And glisten'd on the broad Garrone,
And slept on Blancford lea.
The morn was up, the morn was bright,
In southern summer's rays,
And Nature caroll'd in the light,
And sung her Maker's praise.
Fair Blancford! thou art always fair,
With many a shady dell,
And bland variety and change
Of forest and of fell.
But Blancford on that morn was gay,
With many a pennon bright,
And glittering arms and panoply
Shone in the morning light.
For good Prince Edward, England's pride,
Now lay in Blancford's towers,
And weary sickness had consumed
The hero's winter hours.
But now that brighter beams had come
With Summer's brighter ray,
He called his gallant knights around
To spend a festal day.
With tournament and revelry,
To pass away the hours,
And win fair Mary from her sire,
The lord of Blancford's towers.
But why fair Mary's brow was sad
None in the castle knew,
Nor why she watch'd one garden bed,
Where none but wild pinks grew.
Some said that seven nights before
A page had sped away,
To where Lord Clifford, with his power
On Touraine's frontier lay.
To Blancford no Lord Clifford came,
And many a tale was told,
For well 'twas known that he had sought
Fair Mary's love of old.
And some there said, Lord Clifford's love
Had cool'd at Mary's pride,
And some there said, that other vows
His heart Inconstant tied.
Foul slander, ready still to soil
All that is bright and fair,
With more than Time's destructiveness,
Who never learn'd to spare!
The morn was bright, but posts had come
Bringing no tidings fair,
For knit was Edward's royal brow
And full of thoughtful care.
The lists were set; the parted sun
Shone equal on the plain,
And many a knight there manfully
Strove fresh applause to gain.
Good Lord James Talbot, and Sir Guy
Of Brackenbury, he
Who slew the Giant Iron arm
On Cressy's famous lea.
Were counted best; and pray'd the prince
To give the sign that they
Might run a course, and one receive
The honours of the day.
"Speed knights! perhaps those arms that shine
In peace," Prince Edward said,
"Before a se'nnight pass, may well
In Gallic blood be dyed.
"For here we learn that hostile bands
Have gather'd in Touraine,
And Clifford with his little troop,
Are prisoners, or slain.
"For with five hundred spears, how bold
Soe'er his courage show,
He never would withstand the shock
Of such a host of foe."
Fair Mary spoke not; but the blood
Fled truant from her cheek,
And left it pale as when day leaves
Some mountain's snowy peak.
But then there came the cry of horse,
The east lea pricking o'er;
And to the lists a weary page
A tatter'd pennon bore.
Fast came a knight, with blood-stain'd arms,
And dusty panoply,
And beaver down, and armed lance,
In chivalric array.
No crest, no arms, no gay device
Upon his shield he wore,
But a small knot beside his plume
Of plain wild pinks he bore.
For love, for love and chivalry,
Lord Clifford rides the plain!
And foul lies he who dares to say
His honour ere knew stain!
And Mary's cheek was blushing bright,
And Mary's heart beat high,
And Mary's breath, that fear oppressed,
Came in a long glad sigh.
Straight to the prince, the knight he rode,
"I claim these lists," he cried,
"Though late unto the field I come
My suit be not denied.
"For we have fought beside the Loire,
And dyed our arms in blood,
Nor ever ceased to wield the sword
So long as rebels stood.
"Hemmed in, I one time never thought
To die in British land,
Nor see my noble prince again,
Nor kiss his royal hand.
"But well fought every gallant squire,
And well fought every knight,
And rebels have been taught to feel
The force of British might.
"And now in humble tone they sue,
To know thy high command,
And here stand I these lists to claim,
For a fair lady's hand.
"For Mary's love and chivalry
I dare the world to fight;
And foul and bitterly he lies
Who dares deny my right!"
"No, no, brave Clifford," Edward said,
"No lists to-day for thee,
Thy gallant deeds beside the Loire
Well prove thy chivalry.
"Sir Guy, Sir Henry, and the rest
Have well acquit their arms,
But Edward's thanks are Clifford's due
As well as Mary's charms.
"My lord, you are her sire," he said,
"Give kind consent and free,
And who denies our Clifford's right
Shall ride a tilt with me."
Gay spake the prince, gay laugh'd the throng,
And Mary said not nay,
And bright with smile, and dance, and song,
Went down the festal day.
And when Lord Clifford to the board
Led down his Mary fair,
A knot of pinks was in his cap,
A knot was in her hair.
For it had been their sign of love.
And loved by them was still,
Till death came gently on their heads
And bowed them to his will.
And now though years have passed away,
And all that years have seen,
And Clifford's deeds and Mary's charms
Are as they ne'er had been.
Some wind, as if in memory,
Has borne the seeds on high,
To deck the ruin's crumbling walls,
And catch the passing eye.
They tell a tale to those who hear,
For beauty, strength, and power,
Are but the idlesse of a day,
More short-lived than a flower.
Joy on, joy on, then, whilst ye may,
Nor waste the moments dear,
Nor give yourselves a cause to sigh,
Nor teach to shed a tear.