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XI.

ALBERT GRÆME.

It was an English ladye bright,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithly they saw the rising sun,

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall, But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
And he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all!

XII.

That wine she had not tasted well,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;)
When dead, in her true love's arm, she fell,
For Love was still the lord of all.

He pierced her brother to the heart,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;

So perish all, would true love part,
That Love may still be lord of all.

And then he took the cross divine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)
Pray for their souls who died for love,
For Love shall still be lord of all!

XIII.

As ended Albert's simple lay,
Arose a bard of loftier port;

For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay,

Renowned in haughty Henry's court:
There hung thy harp, unrivalled long,
Fitztraver of the silver song!

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre—
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?

His was the hero's soul of fire,

And his the bard's immortal name,

And his was love, exalted high

By all the glow of chivalry.

XIV.

They sought, together, climes afar,
And oft, within some olive grove,
When evening came, with twinkling star,
They sung of Surrey's absent love.
His step the Italian peasant staid,

And deemed, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid, Were breathing heavenly melody;

So sweet did harp and voice combine,
To praise the name of Geraldine.

XV.

Fitztraver! O what tongue may say
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,

His harp called wrath and vengeance down.
He left, for Naworth's iron towers,
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers,
And, faithful to his patron's name,
With Howard still Fitztraver came;
Lord William's foremost favourite he,
And chief of all his minstrelsy.

XVI.

FITZTRAVER.

T'was All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high;

He heard the midnight-bell with anxious start, Which told the mystic hour approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, To shew to him the ladye of his heart,

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim; Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, That he should see her form in life and limb, And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.

XVII.

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,
To which the wizard led the gallant
Knight,

Save that before a mirror, huge and high,
A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light
On mystic implements of magic might;

On cross, on character, and talisman, And almagest, and altar, nothing bright; For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, As watch-light by the bed of some departing

man.

XVIII.

But soon, within that mirror huge and high,
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam;
And forms upon its breast the earl 'gan spy,
Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream,
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem
To form a lordly and a lofty room,
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam,

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom.

XIX.

Fair all the pageant-but how passing fair The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind!

O'er her white bosom strayed ber hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined;

All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find :

That favoured strain was Surrey's raptured line,

That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine,

XX.

Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form,
And swept the goodly vision all away—
So royal envy rolled the murky storm
O'er my beloved Master's glorious day.
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay
On thee, and on thy children's latest line,
The wild caprice of thy despotic sway,

The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine, The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldine!

XXI.

Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong
Applauses of Fitztraver's song:

These hated Henry's name as death,
And those still held the ancient faith.-
Then, from his seat, with lofty air,
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair;
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home,
Had with that lord to battle come.

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