I.
In days of yore, when minstrel song
Ne’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’
But ladye fair, and knightly throng,
Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear;
There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame—
His deeds as gallant as his name—
De Lopez—stainless arms he wore,
Those arms his peerless fathers bore;
And many a goodly rood of land,
And castle fair were in his hand;
And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’
Rode to the fight at his command.
A braver knight ne’er strode a steed,
Or couch’d a lance in rest;
A stalwart knight was he at need,
His war-spear was no coward’s reed;
In mercy he was best.
But he was now to bid adieu
To scenes he lov’d full well;
He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true,
To follow his king the crusade through,
To lands o’er which the simoom blew,
Till the Moslem crescent fell.
Now, in the castle hall he stood,
His ladye on his arm—
He waited there, before he rode,
Trusting his lovely bride with God,
To shield her from alarm.
“Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight,
“God keep thee safe and true;
My life, my love, ah, cruel right!
That blasts our day of love so bright
And o’er it spreads the sable night,
A night of deadly hue.”
So spake De Lopez, gallant knight,
On parting at the castle gate,
He in his glittering arms bedight,
She mourning o’er her hapless fate.
And then she plac’d a bright red rose
Among his waving plumes;
Ah, hapless bride! she little knows
What fearful fate it dooms.