The poem opens with the preparations for the chase, in which the lady is to take a part, and at once the noble pair are described to us:
"Cheerful the host, whatever sport befalls,
Cheerful and courteous, full of manly grace,
His heart's frank welcome written in his face;
So eager, that his pleasure never cloys,
But glad to share whatever he enjoys;
Rich, liberal, gaily dressed, of noble mien;
Clear eyes—full, curving mouth—and brow serene;
Master of speech in many a foreign tongue,
And famed for feats of arms, although too young;
Dexterous in fencing, skills in horsemanship—
His voice and hand preferred to spur or whip;
Quick at a jest and smiling repartee,
With a sweet laugh that sounded frank and free,
But holding satire an accursed thing,
A poisoned javelin or a serpent's sting;
Pitiful to the poor; of courage high;
A soul that could all turns of fate defy;
Gentle to woman; reverent to old age."—
We hasten at once to add the second portrait, painted with a delicacy of outline and warmth of coloring which display the touch of the master hand:
"Like a sweet picture doth the ladies stand,
Still blushing as she bows; one tiny hand,
Hid by a pearl-embroidered gauntlet, holds
Her whip, and her long robe's exuberant folds.
The other hand is bare, and from her eyes
Shades now and then the sun, or softly lies,
With a caressing touch, upon the neck
Of the dear glossy steed she loves to deck
With saddle-housings worked in golden thread,
And golden bands upon his noble head.
White is the little hand whose taper fingers
Smooth his fine coat—and still the lady lingers,
Leaning against his side; nor lifts her head,
But gently turns as gathering footsteps tread;
Reminding you of doves with shifting throats,
Brooding in sunshine by their sheltering cotes.
Under her plumèd hat her wealth of curls
Falls down in golden links among pearls,
And the rich purple of her velvet vest
Slims the young waist and rounds the graceful breast."
The invited guests having all arrived, the merry party set off with cheers and laughter, little dreaming of the sad ending of so joyful a day. The game secured, Count Claud and his lady, returning together, meet with a roaring stream over which they must leap their horses:
"Across the water full of peakèd stones—
Across the water where it chafes and moans—
Across the water at its widest part—
Which wilt thou leap, O lady of brave heart?"
Now comes one of the finest passages in the whole volume. Who can read it without finding at the last line that he has been holding his breath?
"He rides—reins in—looks down the torrent's course,
Pats the sleek neck of his sure-footed horse—
Stops—measures spaces with his eagle eye,
Tries a new track, and yet returns to try.
Sudden, while pausing at the very brink,
The damp, leaf-covered ground appears to sink,
And keen instinct of the wise dumb brute
Escapes the yielding earth, the slippery root;
With a wild effort as if taking wing,
The monstrous gap he clears with one safe spring;
Reaches—(and barely reaches)—past the roar
Of the wild stream, the further lower shore—
Scrambles—recovers—rears—and panting stands
Safe 'neath his masters nerveless, trembling hands."
But one word mars the power of these lines; the word safe in the line,
"The monstrous gap he clears with one safe spring."