XXII.
By Althorpe, and by Oxendon,
Without a halt they hurried on,
Nor paused by that fair cross of stone,
Now for the first time seen,
(For death's dark billows overwhelm
Both jewelled braid, and knightly helm!)
Raised, by the monarch of the realm,
To Eleanor his queen.[18]
XXIII.
Five times through darkness and through day,
Since crossing Tweed, with fresh relay
Ever in wait, their forward way
That cavalcade had held;
Now joy!!! for, on the weary wights,
Loomed London from the Hampstead heights,
As, by the opal morning, Night's
Thin vapours were dispell'd.
XXIV.
With spur on heel, and spear in rest,
And buckler'd arm, and trellised breast,
Closer around their charge they press'd—
On whirled, with livelier roll,
The wheels begirt with prancing feet,
And arms,—a serried mass complete,
Until, by many a stately street,
They reached their destined goal.
XXV.
Grim Westminster! thy pile severe
Struck to the heart like sudden fear;—
"Hope flies from all that enter here!"
Seemed graven on its crest.
The moat o'erpassed, at warn of bell,
Down thundering the portcullis fell,
And clang'd the studded gates,—a knell
Despairing and unblest.
XXVI.