Knight after knight was overthrown,
Some ready for the bier and shroud,
At last the black knight stood alone—
And in the air applause rang loud
As proudly strode he to the throne
Pursued by all the noble crowd.
Then cried the King: “Right nobly won,
Most puissant, worthy Sir Verale,
I would the words were well undone
That erst in anger I did rail.”
The knight replied, “Words injure none,
And after-grief doth not avail.
And now, O King, thou soon shalt wis
Thy daughter is forever mine,
And when thy loving liegemen miss
Both thee and all thou callest thine,
They shall recall the Black Knight’s kiss
And know that love hath power divine.”
Then at the Lady Ursalie
The Black Knight looked and she arose.
But what strange visage she did see
That his raised vizor did disclose—
Is still an awful mystery
Which only that dead lady knows.
For when her eyes of lustre rare
Gazed there, where none could see a face,
A flash of lightning rent the air;
And, passing in a moment’s space,
The Black Knight was no longer there
And of his steed there was no trace.
All looked at Lady Ursalie,
Who blushed with love like any bride:
“No power can take my soul from thee,
I come, I come,” she faintly cried,
And swooned in arms held hastily
And smiling closed her eyes and died.
But who the Black Knight was none knew,
Though one said who had second sight,
He watched a raven as it flew
In circles slow and did alight
Upon the tourney ground and grew
Into a sable horse and knight.
By some, it is believed and said,
That Sir Verale gave one deep sigh
And turned himself on his sick bed
And muttered a low welcome cry,
And ere the watchers knew, was dead,
As his dear lady’s soul passed by.