But Natural Love, the household melody,172
Steals through the dearth,—resettling on the breast;
The bird returning with the silenced sky,
Sings in the ruin, and rebuilds its nest;
Home came the Soother that the storm exiled,—
And Crida's hand lay calm upon his child!
Beside her sister saint, Genevra kneeleth,173
Mourning her father's in her Country's woes;
And near her, hushing iron footsteps, stealeth
The noblest knight the wondrous Table knows—
Whispering low comfort into thrilling ears—
When Harold's plume floats up the flash of spears.
But the proud Earl, with warning hand and eye,174
Repels the yearning arms, the eager start;
Man amidst men, his haughty thoughts deny
To foes the triumph o'er his father's heart;
Quickly he turn'd—where shone amidst his ring
Of subject planets, the Hyperion King.
There Tristan grateful—Agrafayn uncouth,175
And Owaine comely with the battle-scar,
And Geraint's lofty age, to venturous youth
Glory and guide, as to proud ships a star,
And Gawaine sober'd to his gravest smile,—
Lean on the spears that lighten through the pile.
There stood the stoic Alemen sedate,176
Blocks hewn from man, which love with life inspired;
There, by the Cross, from eyes serene with Fate,
Look'd into space the Mage! and carnage-tired,
On Ægis shields, like Jove's still thunders, lay
Thine ocean giants, Scandinavia!
But lo, the front, where conquest's auriole177
Shone, as round Genius marching at the van
Of nations;—where the victories of the soul
Stamp'd Nature's masterpiece, perfected Man:
Fair as young Honour's vision of a king
Fit for bold hearts to serve, free lips to sing!
So stood the Christian Prince in Odin's hall,178
Gathering in one, Renown's converging rays;
But, in the hour of triumph, turn, from all
War's victor pomp, his memory and his gaze;
Miss that last boon the mission should achieve,
And rest where droops the dove-like Genevieve.
Now at the sight of Mercia's haughty lord,179
A loftier grandeur calms yet more his brow;
And leaning lightly on his sheathless sword,
Listening he stood, while spoke the Earl:—"I bow
Not to war's fortune, but the victor's fame;
Thine is so large, it shields thy foes from shame.
"Prepared for battle, proffering peace I come;180
On yonder hills eno' of Saxon steel
Remains, to match the Cymrian Christendom;
Not slaves with masters, men with men would deal.
We cannot leave your land, our chiefs in gyves,—
While chains gall Saxons, Saxon war survives.
"Our kings, our women, and our priests release,181
And in their name I pledge (no mean return)
A ransom worthy of both nations—Peace;
Peace with the Teuton! On your hills shall burn
No more the beacon; on your fields no more
The steed of Hengist plunge its hoofs in gore.