And trumpets bray, and banners stream, and chargers gallop round, And noble hearts beat quick for praise, with many an aching bound ; But who is she who wins all looks-for whom all ride the ring To gain a smile of whose dark eye were glory for a king? Ha! did you mark that sudden blush-that deadly paleness then See you the Knight on whom is fixed so eagerly her ken? "It is the Count Alcaras," for his Spanish crest she knew, "But why wears he that plighted scarf-that scarf of gold and blue ?" VII. "I took it, lady," boastingly, the crafty Spaniard said, "From one I forced to yield beneath my more victorious blade; He gave it me with right good will, his life was all he sought, Too cheaply with the coward's death so rich a prize I bought." "Now by St. Louis! braggart base!" fair Isabel replied, "I tell thee in thy craven teeth, that loudly thou hast lied!" Then bared she straight her snow-white hand, and down she threw her glove, "Oh! is there any knight who here, for honour or for love, Will make the Count Alcaras his unhallowed falsehood rue, And win me back that well-known scarf-that scarf of gold and blue?” VIII. A hundred swords leaped forth at once to do her proud behest, A hundred lords were at her feet, a hundred spears in rest; But she has singled from them all that solitary Knight Who wears his coal-black vizor down, nor yet has proved his might. The heralds sound the onset, and they meet with deadly shock ; The Count has fallen from his horse,-the Knight sits as a rock ; But when he saw Alcaras down, he staid not on his steed, And when he saw Alcaras' lance was shivered as a reed, Away, without one word, the Knight that instant cast his own; And forth he drew his glittering sword, that as a sunbeam shone, With one fierce blow he cleft the casque the Spaniard proudly wore, And with the next struck off the arm on which the scarf he bore! Then thrice he kissed that well-won scarf-that scarf of gold and blue, And raised his vizor as he knelt to her he found so true; O! dearly was that scarf beloved by Sir Eustace D'Argencourt, But dearer far the prize he won in Isabel D'Etours! H. G. B. SONNET. WEARIED with play, and sighing for repose, Then waked by Faith to greet the roseate ray, Hope shall upspring and smile, to chase the gloom away. M. ON REVISITING A RUIN. I. THE still and soft autumnal eve Descends in beauty so serene, That the soothed spirit scarce can grieve Above the fading scene; Where pale, and saddening in decline, Above the sere and yellow bowers, Thou ivy-robed, time-hallowed shrine, I hail thy mouldering towers! II. Amid the summer's blooming reign The glad and glorious day. But while the year thus droops and dies, Around thy walls so worn and wan, The scene and season harmonise, And nature mocks not man. III. Yet fast as thy frail turrets fade And moulder from their place of pride, How oft beneath their sullen shade, Youth, love, and hope have died! But thou art here-thy form appears, Even as of yore it used to beAlas! our few and fleeting years Scarce work a change on thee. IV. The scene around on which I gaze The music of departed days Still murmurs in thy stream: While love and friendship's voices long Have passed to silence-like the strain Breathed in some sweet, heart-touching song We never hear again! V. But Nature's harp hath lost no string, The waving woods and lonely sea, Upon the living ear still fling Their solemn harmony ;— Yet changeless as in days gone by, Though that wild music warbles on To me the breezes seem to sigh, The waters seem to moan. |