DE LOPEZ THE BRAVE.

DE LOPEZ THE BRAVE.

“The age of chivalry is gone.”—Burke.

“The age of chivalry is gone.”—Burke.

In days of yore, when minstrel songNe’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’But ladye fair, and knightly throng,Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear;There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame—His deeds as gallant as his name—De Lopez—stainless arms he wore,Those arms his peerless fathers bore;And many a goodly rood of land,And castle fair were in his hand;And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’Rode to the fight at his command.A braver knight ne’er strode a steed,Or couch’d a lance in rest;A stalwart knight was he at need,His war-spear was no coward’s reed;In mercy he was best.But he was now to bid adieuTo scenes he lov’d full well;He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true,To follow his king the crusade through,To lands o’er which the simoom blew,Till the Moslem crescent fell.Now, in the castle hall he stood,His ladye on his arm—He waited there, before he rode,Trusting his lovely bride with God,To shield her from alarm.“Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight,“God keep thee safe and true;My life, my love, ah, cruel right!That blasts our day of love so brightAnd o’er it spreads the sable night,A night of deadly hue.”So spake De Lopez, gallant knight,On parting at the castle gate,He in his glittering arms bedight,She mourning o’er her hapless fate.And then she plac’d a bright red roseAmong his waving plumes;Ah, hapless bride! she little knowsWhat fearful fate it dooms.

In days of yore, when minstrel songNe’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’But ladye fair, and knightly throng,Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear;There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame—His deeds as gallant as his name—De Lopez—stainless arms he wore,Those arms his peerless fathers bore;And many a goodly rood of land,And castle fair were in his hand;And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’Rode to the fight at his command.A braver knight ne’er strode a steed,Or couch’d a lance in rest;A stalwart knight was he at need,His war-spear was no coward’s reed;In mercy he was best.But he was now to bid adieuTo scenes he lov’d full well;He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true,To follow his king the crusade through,To lands o’er which the simoom blew,Till the Moslem crescent fell.Now, in the castle hall he stood,His ladye on his arm—He waited there, before he rode,Trusting his lovely bride with God,To shield her from alarm.“Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight,“God keep thee safe and true;My life, my love, ah, cruel right!That blasts our day of love so brightAnd o’er it spreads the sable night,A night of deadly hue.”So spake De Lopez, gallant knight,On parting at the castle gate,He in his glittering arms bedight,She mourning o’er her hapless fate.And then she plac’d a bright red roseAmong his waving plumes;Ah, hapless bride! she little knowsWhat fearful fate it dooms.

In days of yore, when minstrel songNe’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’But ladye fair, and knightly throng,Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear;There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame—His deeds as gallant as his name—De Lopez—stainless arms he wore,Those arms his peerless fathers bore;And many a goodly rood of land,And castle fair were in his hand;And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’Rode to the fight at his command.A braver knight ne’er strode a steed,Or couch’d a lance in rest;A stalwart knight was he at need,His war-spear was no coward’s reed;In mercy he was best.But he was now to bid adieuTo scenes he lov’d full well;He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true,To follow his king the crusade through,To lands o’er which the simoom blew,Till the Moslem crescent fell.Now, in the castle hall he stood,His ladye on his arm—He waited there, before he rode,Trusting his lovely bride with God,To shield her from alarm.“Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight,“God keep thee safe and true;My life, my love, ah, cruel right!That blasts our day of love so brightAnd o’er it spreads the sable night,A night of deadly hue.”So spake De Lopez, gallant knight,On parting at the castle gate,He in his glittering arms bedight,She mourning o’er her hapless fate.And then she plac’d a bright red roseAmong his waving plumes;Ah, hapless bride! she little knowsWhat fearful fate it dooms.

In days of yore, when minstrel song

Ne’er swell’d ‘to please a peasant’s ear,’

But ladye fair, and knightly throng,

Were pleas’d his gentle harp to hear;

There liv’d in Spain, a knight of fame—

His deeds as gallant as his name—

De Lopez—stainless arms he wore,

Those arms his peerless fathers bore;

And many a goodly rood of land,

And castle fair were in his hand;

And many a serf ‘with buckled brand,’

Rode to the fight at his command.

A braver knight ne’er strode a steed,

Or couch’d a lance in rest;

A stalwart knight was he at need,

His war-spear was no coward’s reed;

In mercy he was best.

But he was now to bid adieu

To scenes he lov’d full well;

He had vow’d, as loyal lord and true,

To follow his king the crusade through,

To lands o’er which the simoom blew,

Till the Moslem crescent fell.

Now, in the castle hall he stood,

His ladye on his arm—

He waited there, before he rode,

Trusting his lovely bride with God,

To shield her from alarm.

“Now bless thee, dearest,” cried the knight,

“God keep thee safe and true;

My life, my love, ah, cruel right!

That blasts our day of love so bright

And o’er it spreads the sable night,

A night of deadly hue.”

So spake De Lopez, gallant knight,

On parting at the castle gate,

He in his glittering arms bedight,

She mourning o’er her hapless fate.

And then she plac’d a bright red rose

Among his waving plumes;

Ah, hapless bride! she little knows

What fearful fate it dooms.

No more the charger paws the ground,Nor snuffs the fresh’ning air,No more the faithful vassals round,Impatient for the bugle sound,Await—their lord is there.He gave his pennon to the gale,His bugle echo’d far,O’er distant forest, plain and dale,The fearful notes of war.Then spurr’d their furious steeds amain,And soon they cross the lengthen’d plain.But, lo! from yonder lofty tower,The ladye keeps her lonely watch,And there has spent a long, long hour,Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower,Wherever she a sight can catch.And now, in the blue distance far,The pennon fades away;Or, like some ling’ring, morning star,That shines with doubtful ray,’Tis now in view, now lost to sight,As slowly wanes the yielding night.Their gleaming helms and waving crests,Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light,Their flashing shields and steel-clad breasts,That sparkle with a sheen so bright,Grow faint and fainter to the sight.

No more the charger paws the ground,Nor snuffs the fresh’ning air,No more the faithful vassals round,Impatient for the bugle sound,Await—their lord is there.He gave his pennon to the gale,His bugle echo’d far,O’er distant forest, plain and dale,The fearful notes of war.Then spurr’d their furious steeds amain,And soon they cross the lengthen’d plain.But, lo! from yonder lofty tower,The ladye keeps her lonely watch,And there has spent a long, long hour,Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower,Wherever she a sight can catch.And now, in the blue distance far,The pennon fades away;Or, like some ling’ring, morning star,That shines with doubtful ray,’Tis now in view, now lost to sight,As slowly wanes the yielding night.Their gleaming helms and waving crests,Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light,Their flashing shields and steel-clad breasts,That sparkle with a sheen so bright,Grow faint and fainter to the sight.

No more the charger paws the ground,Nor snuffs the fresh’ning air,No more the faithful vassals round,Impatient for the bugle sound,Await—their lord is there.He gave his pennon to the gale,His bugle echo’d far,O’er distant forest, plain and dale,The fearful notes of war.Then spurr’d their furious steeds amain,And soon they cross the lengthen’d plain.But, lo! from yonder lofty tower,The ladye keeps her lonely watch,And there has spent a long, long hour,Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower,Wherever she a sight can catch.And now, in the blue distance far,The pennon fades away;Or, like some ling’ring, morning star,That shines with doubtful ray,’Tis now in view, now lost to sight,As slowly wanes the yielding night.Their gleaming helms and waving crests,Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light,Their flashing shields and steel-clad breasts,That sparkle with a sheen so bright,Grow faint and fainter to the sight.

No more the charger paws the ground,

Nor snuffs the fresh’ning air,

No more the faithful vassals round,

Impatient for the bugle sound,

Await—their lord is there.

He gave his pennon to the gale,

His bugle echo’d far,

O’er distant forest, plain and dale,

The fearful notes of war.

Then spurr’d their furious steeds amain,

And soon they cross the lengthen’d plain.

But, lo! from yonder lofty tower,

The ladye keeps her lonely watch,

And there has spent a long, long hour,

Spying her lord thro’ plain and bower,

Wherever she a sight can catch.

And now, in the blue distance far,

The pennon fades away;

Or, like some ling’ring, morning star,

That shines with doubtful ray,

’Tis now in view, now lost to sight,

As slowly wanes the yielding night.

Their gleaming helms and waving crests,

Their spear-heads tipp’d with silv’ry light,

Their flashing shields and steel-clad breasts,

That sparkle with a sheen so bright,

Grow faint and fainter to the sight.

Why course the drops down Mena’s cheek?Why leaves she now the lonely height,The ladye of the heart so meek,The ladye of such gentle might?She sees no more her own brave knight,She hears no more his bugle-wail;The dark’ning shadows of the night,Shrouding the forest, plain and dale,Conceal him from her sight.And now she hastens to her bower,And now the chief pricks on his way;Behold, around him march the power,Of vassal bold in long array;For they are bound to Palestine,With shield, and spear, and sword,Their blessed Saviour’s tomb to winFrom ruthless Moslem horde.

Why course the drops down Mena’s cheek?Why leaves she now the lonely height,The ladye of the heart so meek,The ladye of such gentle might?She sees no more her own brave knight,She hears no more his bugle-wail;The dark’ning shadows of the night,Shrouding the forest, plain and dale,Conceal him from her sight.And now she hastens to her bower,And now the chief pricks on his way;Behold, around him march the power,Of vassal bold in long array;For they are bound to Palestine,With shield, and spear, and sword,Their blessed Saviour’s tomb to winFrom ruthless Moslem horde.

Why course the drops down Mena’s cheek?Why leaves she now the lonely height,The ladye of the heart so meek,The ladye of such gentle might?She sees no more her own brave knight,She hears no more his bugle-wail;The dark’ning shadows of the night,Shrouding the forest, plain and dale,Conceal him from her sight.And now she hastens to her bower,And now the chief pricks on his way;Behold, around him march the power,Of vassal bold in long array;For they are bound to Palestine,With shield, and spear, and sword,Their blessed Saviour’s tomb to winFrom ruthless Moslem horde.

Why course the drops down Mena’s cheek?

Why leaves she now the lonely height,

The ladye of the heart so meek,

The ladye of such gentle might?

She sees no more her own brave knight,

She hears no more his bugle-wail;

The dark’ning shadows of the night,

Shrouding the forest, plain and dale,

Conceal him from her sight.

And now she hastens to her bower,

And now the chief pricks on his way;

Behold, around him march the power,

Of vassal bold in long array;

For they are bound to Palestine,

With shield, and spear, and sword,

Their blessed Saviour’s tomb to win

From ruthless Moslem horde.

Among the suitors of the land,That sought fair Mena’s lily hand,There was a dark-brown baron bold,That dwelt secure in massive hold;Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold,For many a tale, the country round,Their feet and tongues in terror bound.’Twas said he practic’d gramarye,And that in wild, tempestuous nights,The lurid lightning one might see,Flashing around his castle heights;While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder,Shaking the massive keep,Would seem its rocky walls to sunder,Then straightway forth would leapA dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame,And the black pall of night againEnshroud the heaven’s starless steep.This baron hath sworn a fearful oath,‘By heav’n and all its saints,’That be the ladye never so loth,Despite of love’s restraints,She yet shall deck his bed and board,And gladly own him her liege lord.Now, Holy Mother, shield her well,From all the fiendish plots of hell.For, well I ween, this baron bold,His mightiest spells will not withhold.

Among the suitors of the land,That sought fair Mena’s lily hand,There was a dark-brown baron bold,That dwelt secure in massive hold;Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold,For many a tale, the country round,Their feet and tongues in terror bound.’Twas said he practic’d gramarye,And that in wild, tempestuous nights,The lurid lightning one might see,Flashing around his castle heights;While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder,Shaking the massive keep,Would seem its rocky walls to sunder,Then straightway forth would leapA dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame,And the black pall of night againEnshroud the heaven’s starless steep.This baron hath sworn a fearful oath,‘By heav’n and all its saints,’That be the ladye never so loth,Despite of love’s restraints,She yet shall deck his bed and board,And gladly own him her liege lord.Now, Holy Mother, shield her well,From all the fiendish plots of hell.For, well I ween, this baron bold,His mightiest spells will not withhold.

Among the suitors of the land,That sought fair Mena’s lily hand,There was a dark-brown baron bold,That dwelt secure in massive hold;Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold,For many a tale, the country round,Their feet and tongues in terror bound.’Twas said he practic’d gramarye,And that in wild, tempestuous nights,The lurid lightning one might see,Flashing around his castle heights;While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder,Shaking the massive keep,Would seem its rocky walls to sunder,Then straightway forth would leapA dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame,And the black pall of night againEnshroud the heaven’s starless steep.This baron hath sworn a fearful oath,‘By heav’n and all its saints,’That be the ladye never so loth,Despite of love’s restraints,She yet shall deck his bed and board,And gladly own him her liege lord.Now, Holy Mother, shield her well,From all the fiendish plots of hell.For, well I ween, this baron bold,His mightiest spells will not withhold.

Among the suitors of the land,

That sought fair Mena’s lily hand,

There was a dark-brown baron bold,

That dwelt secure in massive hold;

Men seldom cross’d his stone threshhold,

For many a tale, the country round,

Their feet and tongues in terror bound.

’Twas said he practic’d gramarye,

And that in wild, tempestuous nights,

The lurid lightning one might see,

Flashing around his castle heights;

While the deep-mouth’d bellowing thunder,

Shaking the massive keep,

Would seem its rocky walls to sunder,

Then straightway forth would leap

A dazzling, quiv’ring, noiseless flame,

And the black pall of night again

Enshroud the heaven’s starless steep.

This baron hath sworn a fearful oath,

‘By heav’n and all its saints,’

That be the ladye never so loth,

Despite of love’s restraints,

She yet shall deck his bed and board,

And gladly own him her liege lord.

Now, Holy Mother, shield her well,

From all the fiendish plots of hell.

For, well I ween, this baron bold,

His mightiest spells will not withhold.

What gleaming light,Shoots forth its beams,Through the deep night?Say, what this means?All else is stillOn the castle hill,Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime,That warns the pale ghost of his passing time.That ray from the baron’s window gleams,And, as far down on the lake it streams,Three spirits cross its path.(God shield us from their wrath!)By blackest art they’ve laid to sleepThe warder ’neath the deep black lake,There too they’ve made the ban-dog keepHis lone watch, lest the warder wake;The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.For such foul arts of gramarye,No mortal eye may ever see.’Tis not for such as me to tell,What did they in the baron’s cell.’Tis said that voices loudly groan’dAround the turret’s height;And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d,With many a restless sprite;That then in cloud of flame and smoke,These spirits their departure took.

What gleaming light,Shoots forth its beams,Through the deep night?Say, what this means?All else is stillOn the castle hill,Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime,That warns the pale ghost of his passing time.That ray from the baron’s window gleams,And, as far down on the lake it streams,Three spirits cross its path.(God shield us from their wrath!)By blackest art they’ve laid to sleepThe warder ’neath the deep black lake,There too they’ve made the ban-dog keepHis lone watch, lest the warder wake;The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.For such foul arts of gramarye,No mortal eye may ever see.’Tis not for such as me to tell,What did they in the baron’s cell.’Tis said that voices loudly groan’dAround the turret’s height;And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d,With many a restless sprite;That then in cloud of flame and smoke,These spirits their departure took.

What gleaming light,Shoots forth its beams,Through the deep night?Say, what this means?All else is stillOn the castle hill,Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime,That warns the pale ghost of his passing time.That ray from the baron’s window gleams,And, as far down on the lake it streams,Three spirits cross its path.(God shield us from their wrath!)By blackest art they’ve laid to sleepThe warder ’neath the deep black lake,There too they’ve made the ban-dog keepHis lone watch, lest the warder wake;The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.For such foul arts of gramarye,No mortal eye may ever see.’Tis not for such as me to tell,What did they in the baron’s cell.’Tis said that voices loudly groan’dAround the turret’s height;And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d,With many a restless sprite;That then in cloud of flame and smoke,These spirits their departure took.

What gleaming light,

Shoots forth its beams,

Through the deep night?

Say, what this means?

All else is still

On the castle hill,

Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime,

That warns the pale ghost of his passing time.

That ray from the baron’s window gleams,

And, as far down on the lake it streams,

Three spirits cross its path.

(God shield us from their wrath!)

By blackest art they’ve laid to sleep

The warder ’neath the deep black lake,

There too they’ve made the ban-dog keep

His lone watch, lest the warder wake;

The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,

They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.

For such foul arts of gramarye,

No mortal eye may ever see.

’Tis not for such as me to tell,

What did they in the baron’s cell.

’Tis said that voices loudly groan’d

Around the turret’s height;

And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d,

With many a restless sprite;

That then in cloud of flame and smoke,

These spirits their departure took.

Why swims pale Mena’s heavy eye?Why walks she with a falt’ring step?Why heaves she now the sudden sigh?Has not her gallant lover keptHis knightly word? or, can it beThat he has fall’n beyond the sea?She had last night a fearful dream,‘A spirit woke her,’ (it did seem,)‘And with a finger gory red,Pointed her to a bleeding head;Upon a city’s gate ’twas plac’d,With dust and clotted gore defac’d;’She shriek’d not—but her heart’s hot bloodMounted in gushes to her brain,This cannot be—oh, gracious God!Is this her luckless lover slain?But the foul spirit by his power,Sustain’d her through her trying hour.Yet once againThe vision came.‘She sees a gallant knight,And a ladye fair flit by;They move like forms of light,And stately onward hie;The knight—he was the baron bold!Herself the ladye fair!The hour of one the clock now told,The spirits melt in air.’

Why swims pale Mena’s heavy eye?Why walks she with a falt’ring step?Why heaves she now the sudden sigh?Has not her gallant lover keptHis knightly word? or, can it beThat he has fall’n beyond the sea?She had last night a fearful dream,‘A spirit woke her,’ (it did seem,)‘And with a finger gory red,Pointed her to a bleeding head;Upon a city’s gate ’twas plac’d,With dust and clotted gore defac’d;’She shriek’d not—but her heart’s hot bloodMounted in gushes to her brain,This cannot be—oh, gracious God!Is this her luckless lover slain?But the foul spirit by his power,Sustain’d her through her trying hour.Yet once againThe vision came.‘She sees a gallant knight,And a ladye fair flit by;They move like forms of light,And stately onward hie;The knight—he was the baron bold!Herself the ladye fair!The hour of one the clock now told,The spirits melt in air.’

Why swims pale Mena’s heavy eye?Why walks she with a falt’ring step?Why heaves she now the sudden sigh?Has not her gallant lover keptHis knightly word? or, can it beThat he has fall’n beyond the sea?She had last night a fearful dream,‘A spirit woke her,’ (it did seem,)‘And with a finger gory red,Pointed her to a bleeding head;Upon a city’s gate ’twas plac’d,With dust and clotted gore defac’d;’She shriek’d not—but her heart’s hot bloodMounted in gushes to her brain,This cannot be—oh, gracious God!Is this her luckless lover slain?But the foul spirit by his power,Sustain’d her through her trying hour.Yet once againThe vision came.‘She sees a gallant knight,And a ladye fair flit by;They move like forms of light,And stately onward hie;The knight—he was the baron bold!Herself the ladye fair!The hour of one the clock now told,The spirits melt in air.’

Why swims pale Mena’s heavy eye?

Why walks she with a falt’ring step?

Why heaves she now the sudden sigh?

Has not her gallant lover kept

His knightly word? or, can it be

That he has fall’n beyond the sea?

She had last night a fearful dream,

‘A spirit woke her,’ (it did seem,)

‘And with a finger gory red,

Pointed her to a bleeding head;

Upon a city’s gate ’twas plac’d,

With dust and clotted gore defac’d;’

She shriek’d not—but her heart’s hot blood

Mounted in gushes to her brain,

This cannot be—oh, gracious God!

Is this her luckless lover slain?

But the foul spirit by his power,

Sustain’d her through her trying hour.

Yet once again

The vision came.

‘She sees a gallant knight,

And a ladye fair flit by;

They move like forms of light,

And stately onward hie;

The knight—he was the baron bold!

Herself the ladye fair!

The hour of one the clock now told,

The spirits melt in air.’

Now round the altar high they stand,In sooth, a gallant, goodly band;On high the torches flash and wave,Showing pillar and architrave,And arch and gothic window fair,And, hanging high in the cold night air,Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there.But who are these, at dead of night,That would perform this holy rite?Who, I pray, but the baron bold,And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold?For missals foully forg’d have said,(Rest him!) her gallant knight is dead!And then, her father’s stern command,And many a ghostly spirit band,Have sent her mad;—she cannot knowThe full extent of all her woe.

Now round the altar high they stand,In sooth, a gallant, goodly band;On high the torches flash and wave,Showing pillar and architrave,And arch and gothic window fair,And, hanging high in the cold night air,Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there.But who are these, at dead of night,That would perform this holy rite?Who, I pray, but the baron bold,And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold?For missals foully forg’d have said,(Rest him!) her gallant knight is dead!And then, her father’s stern command,And many a ghostly spirit band,Have sent her mad;—she cannot knowThe full extent of all her woe.

Now round the altar high they stand,In sooth, a gallant, goodly band;On high the torches flash and wave,Showing pillar and architrave,And arch and gothic window fair,And, hanging high in the cold night air,Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there.But who are these, at dead of night,That would perform this holy rite?Who, I pray, but the baron bold,And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold?For missals foully forg’d have said,(Rest him!) her gallant knight is dead!And then, her father’s stern command,And many a ghostly spirit band,Have sent her mad;—she cannot knowThe full extent of all her woe.

Now round the altar high they stand,

In sooth, a gallant, goodly band;

On high the torches flash and wave,

Showing pillar and architrave,

And arch and gothic window fair,

And, hanging high in the cold night air,

Pennon and ’scutcheon that glisten’d there.

But who are these, at dead of night,

That would perform this holy rite?

Who, I pray, but the baron bold,

And the fair Mena, deck’d in gold?

For missals foully forg’d have said,

(Rest him!) her gallant knight is dead!

And then, her father’s stern command,

And many a ghostly spirit band,

Have sent her mad;—she cannot know

The full extent of all her woe.

The priest in robes of stainless white,Does now beside the altar stand,And now beneath the dazzling light,The baron takes the ladye’s hand.Jesu Maria! what muffled form,Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm?His helm is gone, but a lifeless roseOn his steel-clad bosom finds repose.’Tis wither’d and faded quite away,Still lies it there; as, in former day,It shone a terror to his foes.The baron breathes convulsively,He knows the stranger knightThat aims at him so manfully;Oh, shield the luckless wight!Now flash their falchions in mid air,May “God defend the right!”Oh, who had seen that man would swearHis was no mortal might.But, ah! he’s down—it cannot be:His mighty soul for aye has sped!Draw near—oh, horrid sight to seeDe Lopez number’d with the dead!With idiot eye and childish stare,Poor Mena bends before him there,His bloody, wasted hand she takes;The flower her sad remembrance wakes.Her brain is fir’d; in vain she triesTo shed a tear!—so soon, alas!The secret springs of feeling fail,When wrongs the anguish’d heart assail,And burning sorrows o’er it pass.

The priest in robes of stainless white,Does now beside the altar stand,And now beneath the dazzling light,The baron takes the ladye’s hand.Jesu Maria! what muffled form,Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm?His helm is gone, but a lifeless roseOn his steel-clad bosom finds repose.’Tis wither’d and faded quite away,Still lies it there; as, in former day,It shone a terror to his foes.The baron breathes convulsively,He knows the stranger knightThat aims at him so manfully;Oh, shield the luckless wight!Now flash their falchions in mid air,May “God defend the right!”Oh, who had seen that man would swearHis was no mortal might.But, ah! he’s down—it cannot be:His mighty soul for aye has sped!Draw near—oh, horrid sight to seeDe Lopez number’d with the dead!With idiot eye and childish stare,Poor Mena bends before him there,His bloody, wasted hand she takes;The flower her sad remembrance wakes.Her brain is fir’d; in vain she triesTo shed a tear!—so soon, alas!The secret springs of feeling fail,When wrongs the anguish’d heart assail,And burning sorrows o’er it pass.

The priest in robes of stainless white,Does now beside the altar stand,And now beneath the dazzling light,The baron takes the ladye’s hand.Jesu Maria! what muffled form,Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm?His helm is gone, but a lifeless roseOn his steel-clad bosom finds repose.’Tis wither’d and faded quite away,Still lies it there; as, in former day,It shone a terror to his foes.The baron breathes convulsively,He knows the stranger knightThat aims at him so manfully;Oh, shield the luckless wight!Now flash their falchions in mid air,May “God defend the right!”Oh, who had seen that man would swearHis was no mortal might.But, ah! he’s down—it cannot be:His mighty soul for aye has sped!Draw near—oh, horrid sight to seeDe Lopez number’d with the dead!With idiot eye and childish stare,Poor Mena bends before him there,His bloody, wasted hand she takes;The flower her sad remembrance wakes.Her brain is fir’d; in vain she triesTo shed a tear!—so soon, alas!The secret springs of feeling fail,When wrongs the anguish’d heart assail,And burning sorrows o’er it pass.

The priest in robes of stainless white,

Does now beside the altar stand,

And now beneath the dazzling light,

The baron takes the ladye’s hand.

Jesu Maria! what muffled form,

Breaks through the crowd like a mighty storm?

His helm is gone, but a lifeless rose

On his steel-clad bosom finds repose.

’Tis wither’d and faded quite away,

Still lies it there; as, in former day,

It shone a terror to his foes.

The baron breathes convulsively,

He knows the stranger knight

That aims at him so manfully;

Oh, shield the luckless wight!

Now flash their falchions in mid air,

May “God defend the right!”

Oh, who had seen that man would swear

His was no mortal might.

But, ah! he’s down—it cannot be:

His mighty soul for aye has sped!

Draw near—oh, horrid sight to see

De Lopez number’d with the dead!

With idiot eye and childish stare,

Poor Mena bends before him there,

His bloody, wasted hand she takes;

The flower her sad remembrance wakes.

Her brain is fir’d; in vain she tries

To shed a tear!—so soon, alas!

The secret springs of feeling fail,

When wrongs the anguish’d heart assail,

And burning sorrows o’er it pass.

With mournful step and fun’ral wail,They bear the baron bold;No more he’ll need his war-proof mail,No more his massive hold.De Lopez did not fall in vain,For, as he fell, with might and main,While yet in death he fainter grew,He thrust the bloody baron through.They lay the baron by a running stream,Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot;But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleamSurrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot.A monument of marble pale,Marks where De Lopez fell;For him arose no kindred wail,He lies secure from fiendish spell.And they have carv’d a gallant knight,Stretch’d on that tomb so pale,Still in his stainless arms bedight,Still clad in marble mail.’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray,Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay,A saint-like spirit you may see,With marriage robe, and bended knee,Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre.Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face,And shed a lonely tear,Then look to heav’n—to ask the graceThat was denied him here.R.

With mournful step and fun’ral wail,They bear the baron bold;No more he’ll need his war-proof mail,No more his massive hold.De Lopez did not fall in vain,For, as he fell, with might and main,While yet in death he fainter grew,He thrust the bloody baron through.They lay the baron by a running stream,Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot;But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleamSurrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot.A monument of marble pale,Marks where De Lopez fell;For him arose no kindred wail,He lies secure from fiendish spell.And they have carv’d a gallant knight,Stretch’d on that tomb so pale,Still in his stainless arms bedight,Still clad in marble mail.’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray,Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay,A saint-like spirit you may see,With marriage robe, and bended knee,Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre.Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face,And shed a lonely tear,Then look to heav’n—to ask the graceThat was denied him here.R.

With mournful step and fun’ral wail,They bear the baron bold;No more he’ll need his war-proof mail,No more his massive hold.De Lopez did not fall in vain,For, as he fell, with might and main,While yet in death he fainter grew,He thrust the bloody baron through.They lay the baron by a running stream,Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot;But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleamSurrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot.

With mournful step and fun’ral wail,

They bear the baron bold;

No more he’ll need his war-proof mail,

No more his massive hold.

De Lopez did not fall in vain,

For, as he fell, with might and main,

While yet in death he fainter grew,

He thrust the bloody baron through.

They lay the baron by a running stream,

Nor moon nor stars e’er shine upon the spot;

But, it is said, a bluish, noiseless gleam

Surrounds him; such, the dreaded wizard’s lot.

A monument of marble pale,Marks where De Lopez fell;For him arose no kindred wail,He lies secure from fiendish spell.And they have carv’d a gallant knight,Stretch’d on that tomb so pale,Still in his stainless arms bedight,Still clad in marble mail.’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray,Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay,A saint-like spirit you may see,With marriage robe, and bended knee,Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre.Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face,And shed a lonely tear,Then look to heav’n—to ask the graceThat was denied him here.

A monument of marble pale,

Marks where De Lopez fell;

For him arose no kindred wail,

He lies secure from fiendish spell.

And they have carv’d a gallant knight,

Stretch’d on that tomb so pale,

Still in his stainless arms bedight,

Still clad in marble mail.

’Tis said, when the moon, with palish ray,

Shines on the spot where the brave knight lay,

A saint-like spirit you may see,

With marriage robe, and bended knee,

Kneel o’er his lowly sepulchre.

Awhile she’ll kiss the marble face,

And shed a lonely tear,

Then look to heav’n—to ask the grace

That was denied him here.

R.

R.

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