The Catholic World Volume Iii Part 4

In maiden beauty's crescent splendor.

And never yet bent Minstrel knee To Mistress lovelier than she.

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THE FIRST SONG.

I.

Ye have heard of the Castle of Miolan And how it hath stood since time began, Midway to yon mountain's brow, Guarding the beautiful valley below: Its crest the clouds, its ancient feet Where the Arc and the Isere murmuring meet Earth hath few lovelier scenes to show Than Miolan with its hundred halls, Its ma.s.sive towers and bannered walls, Looming out through the vines and walnut woods That gladden its stately solitudes.

And there might ye hear but yestermorn The loud halloo and the hunter's horn, The laugh of mailed men at play.

The drinking bout and the roundelay.

But now all is sternest silence there.

Save the bell that calls to vesper prayer; Save the ceaseless surge of a father's wail, And, hark! ye may hear the Baron's Tale.

II.

"Come hither. Hermit!--Yestermorn I had an only son, A gallant fair as e'er was born, A knight whose spurs were won In the red tide by G.o.dfrey's side At Ascalon.

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"But yestermorn he came to me For blessing on his lance, And death and danger seemed to flee The joyaunce of his glance, For he would ride to win his Bride, Christine of France.

"All sparkling in the sun he stood In mail of Milan dressed, A scarf, the gift of her he wooed, Lay lightly o'er his breast.

As, with a clang, to horse he sprang With nodding crest

"Gaily he grasped the stirrup cup Afoam with spicy ale, But as he took the goblet up Methought his cheek grew pale.

And a shudder ran through the iron man And through his mail.

"Oft had I seen him breast the shock Of squire or crowned king, His front was firm as rooted rock When spears were s.h.i.+vering: I knew no blow could shake him so From living thing.

"'Twas something near akin to death That blanched and froze his cheek, Yet 'twas not death, for he had breath, And when I bade him speak, Unto his breast his hand he pressed With one wild shriek.

"The hand thus clasped upon his heart So sharply curbed the rein, Grey Caliph, rearing with a start, Went bounding o'er the plain Away, away with echoing neigh And streaming mane.

"After him sped the menial throng; I stirred not in my fear; Perchance I swooned, for it seemed not long Ere the race did reappear, And my son still led on his desert-bred.

Grasping his spear.

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"Unchanged in look or limb, he came.

He and his barb so fleet, His hand still on his heart, the same Stem bearing in his seat, And wheeling round with sudden bound Stopped at my feet.

"And soon as ceased that wildering tramp 'What ails thee, boy?' I cried-- Taking his hand all chill and damp-- 'What means this fearful ride?

Alight, alight, for lips so white Would scare a Bride!'

"But sternly to his steed clove he, And answer made he none, I clasped him by his barbed knee And there I made my moan; While icily he stared at me, At me alone.

"A strange, unmeaning stare was that, And a page beside me said, 'If ever corse in saddle sat, Our lord is certes sped!'

But I smote the lad, for it drove me mad To think him dead.

"What! dead so young, what! lost so soon, My beautiful, my brave!

Sooner the sun should find at noon In central heaven a grave!

Sweet Jesu, no, it is not so When Thou canst save!

"For was he dead and was he sped, When he could ride so well, So bravely bear his plumed head?

Or, was't some spirit fell In causeless wrath had crossed his path With fiendish spell?

"Oh. Hermit, 'twas a cruel sight.

And He, who loves to bless, Ne'er sent on son such bitter blight.

On sire such sore distress, Such piteous pa.s.s, and I, alas, So powerless!

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"They would have ta'en him from his horse The while I wept and prayed, They would have lain him like a corse Upon a litter made Of traversed spear and martial gear.

But I forbade.

"I gazed into his face again, I chafed his hand once more, I summoned him to speak, in vain-- He sat there as before, While the gallant Grey in dumb dismay His rider bore.

"Full well, full well Grey Caliph then The horror seemed to know.

E'en deeper than my mailed men Methought he felt our woe; For the barbed head of the desert-bred Was drooping low.

"Amazed, aghast, he gazed at me, That mourner true and good.

Then backward at my boy looted he.

As if a word he sued.

And like sculptured pile in abbey aisle The train there stood.

"I took the rein: the frozen one Still fast in saddle sate.

As tremblingly I led him on Toward the great castle gate.

O walls mine own, why have ye grown So desolate?--

"I led them to the castle gate And paused before the shrine Where throned in state from earliest date, Protectress of our line.

Madonna pressed close to her breast The Babe Divine.

"And kneeling lowly at her feet, I begged the Mother mild That she would sue her Jesu sweet To aid my stricken child; And the meek stone face flashed full of grace As if she smiled.

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"And methought the eyes of the Full of Grace Upon my darling shone, Till living seemed that marble face And the living man seemed stone, While a halo played round the Mother Maid And round her Son.

"And there was radiance everywhere Surpa.s.sing light of day, On man and horse, on s.h.i.+eld and spear Burned the bright, blinding ray; But most it shone on my only one And his gallant Grey.

"A sudden clang of armor rang, My boy lay on the sward.

Up high in air Grey Caliph sprang, An instant fiercely pawed.

Then trembling stood aghast and viewed His fallen lord.