Alas! no stimulus avails!
Each former potent influence fails:
No longer e'en a sigh can part
From that oppress'd and wearied heart.
What broke, at length, the spell? There came
The sound of Hugh de Lacy's name!
It struck like lightning on her ear—
But did she truly, rightly hear?
For terror through her senses ran,
E'en as the song of hope began.—
His charge arriv'd on England's coast,
Consign'd where they had wish'd it most,
Had brave De Lacy join'd the train
Which sought the Norman shores again?—
Then liv'd her darling and her pride!
What anguish was awaken'd there!
A joy close mating with despair—
He liv'd for whom her Eustace died!
Yes! yes! he lives! the sea could spare
That Island warrior's infant heir!
For whom, when thick-surrounding foes,
Nigh spent with toil, had sought repose,
Slow stealing forth, with wary feet,
From covert of secure retreat,—
A soldier leading on the way
To where his dear commander lay,—
Over the field, at dead midnight,
By a pale torch's flickering light,
Did Friendship wander to behold,
Breathing, but senseless, pallid, cold,
With many a gash, and many a stain,
Him,—whom the morrow sought in vain!
Love had not dar'd that form to find,
Ungifted with excelling grace!
Nor, thus without a glimpse of mind,
Acknowledg'd that familiar face!
Disfigur'd now with many a trace
Of recent agony!—Its power
Had not withstood this fatal hour!
Friendship firm-nerv'd, resolv'd, mature,
With hand more steady, strong, and sore,
Can torpid Horror's veil remove,
Which palsies all the force of Love!
What is Love's office, then? To tend
The hero rescued by a friend!
All unperceiv'd, with balmy wing
To wave away each restless thing
That wakes to breathe disturbance round!
To temper all in peace profound.
With whisper soft and lightsome touch,
To aid, assuage,—relieving much
Of trouble neither seen nor told—
Of pain, which it alone divines,
Which scarcely he who feels defines,
Which lynx-like eyes alone behold!
And heavy were De Stafford's sighs,
And oft impatient would they rise;
Though Friendship, Honour's self was there,
Until he found a nurse more fair!
A nicer tact, a finer skill,
To know and to perform his will—
Until he felt the healing look,
The tones that only Marie spoke!
How patient, then, awaiting ease,
And suffering pain, he cross'd the seas!
How patient, when they reach'd the shore,
A long, long tract he journey'd o'er!
Though days and months flow'd past, at length,
Ere he regain'd his former strength,
He yet had courage to sustain,
Without a murmur, every pain!
"At home once more—with friends so true—
My boy recover'd thus"—he cried,
"His mother smiling by my side—
Resigned each lesser ill I view!
As bubbles on the Ocean's breast,
When gloriously calm, will rise;
As shadows from o'er-clouded skies,
Or some few angry waves may dance
Nor ruffle that serene expanse;
So lightly o'er my comfort glides
Each adverse feeling—so subsides
Each discontent—and leaves me blest!"
NOTES.
NOTE I.
The Lay of Marie.—Title.
The words roman, fabliau, and lai, are so often used indifferently by the old French writers, that it is difficult to lay down any positive rule for discriminating between them. But I believe the word roman particularly applies to such works as were to be supposed strictly historical: such are the romances of Arthur, Charlemagne, the Trojan War, &c. The fabliaux were generally, stories supposed to have been invented for the purpose of illustrating some moral; or real anecdotes, capable of being so applied. The lai, according to Le Grand, chiefly differed from the fabliau, in being interspersed with musical interludes; but I suspect they were generally translations from the British. The word is said to be derived from leudus; but laoi seems to be the general name of a class of Irish metrical compositions, as "Laoi na Seilge" and others, quoted by Mr. Walker (Hist. Mem. of Irish Bards), and it may be doubted whether the word was not formerly common to the Welsh and American dialects.—Ellis's Specimens.