Silent stood Christalan
And faced their coming, not a trace of fear
Or tremor in his bearing, slight and frail
In his white doublet, holding in his hand
The wayside lilies he forgot to drop,
Which to the Lady Agathar shall come,
Alas! without his greeting or his kiss.
"Ho!" cried the bandits. "Eavesdropping? By hell
And all the devils! we will slash his tongue
Too fine to tell our secrets, if he heard!
Speak, man, or die! Heard you our converse now?"
"Strike, ye base cowards," answered Christalan.
"I am unarmed, alone, and weaponless:
I cannot wield the sword, nor wear my helm,
But God is with me to defend me now,
So strike against His power, if you dare!"
The sunlight, slanting westward through the trees,
Fell first upon his lifted, golden head,
Making a shining helmet of his curls,
And then upon the lilies in his hand;
His eyes had a defiant, fearless glow;
Against the sombre background of the wood,
He looked scarce human.
"Mother of our Lord!"
In frightened breath, the bandit rebels cried.
"It is a spirit; no mere mortal man
Would stand and face us boldly so, unarmed.
Look at the Virgin's lilies in his hand!
Great God, preserve us, save us from our doom!"
And turning in a panic of swift fear,
They vanished quickly through the shadowed wood,
While Christalan sped on to save his King.
He sees the castle, and he hears the horn
That calls the court together for the hunt;
His strength is failing, and his heart grows faint.
Quick, ere it cease to beat! Faster, more fast!
O but to save his noble lord! One swift,
Last run, and he has reached them; breathlessly
He stands before the charger of the King,
With arms uplifted and imploring eyes,
Until words come, between sharp gasps of pain.
"Go not, my liege, upon the hunt to-day,
I pray you, for the glory of the realm."
With cheeks that paled and flushed, and panting breath,
He told his story in disjointed words,
And, with unconscious frank simplicity,
The tale of his high courage on the way,
To prove, what it had proved to his own heart,
The care of God to shield his lord the King.
Then he fell prostrate at the great King's feet,
And tired life ebbed fast to leave him rest.
He lies amid the hushed and silent court,
The faded lilies still within his hand;
And with his weary, dying eyes he sees
The sword of Constantine above his head,
Giving, at last, the royal accolade,
While the King's face is full of yearning love;
And with his dying ears he hears the words,
That he has bravely striven to resign,
"Sir Christalan, my True and Valiant knight,"
And then the murmur from the assembled court,
"Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True;
God speed the soul of our beloved knight,
Sir Christalan, the Valiant and the True."