XXVII.

"This answer be to Ronald given-
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven.
My love was like a summer flower,
That wither'd in the wintry hour,
Born but of vanity and pride,

And with these sunny visions died.
If further press his suit-then say,

He should his plighted troth obey,
Troth plighted both with ring and word,
And sworn on crucifix and sword.-

Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen

Thou hast a woman's guardian been!

Even in extremity's dread hour,

When press'd on thee the Southern

And safety, to all human sight,

power,

Was only found in rapid flight,

Thou heard'st a wretched female plain
In agony of travail-pain,

And thou didst bid thy little band

Upon the instant turn and stand,
And dare the worst the foe might do,
Rather than, like a knight untrue,
Leave to pursuers merciless

A woman in her last distress.-
And wilt thou now deny thine aid
To an oppress'd and injured maid,
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy,
And press his fickle faith on me?-
So witness Heaven, as true I vow,
Had I those earthly feelings now,
Which could my former bosom move
Ere taught to set its hopes above,
I'd spurn each proffer he could bring,
Till at my feet he laid the ring,
The ring and spousal contract both,
And fair acquittal of his oath,

By her who brooks his perjured scorn,
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn!”—

XXVIII.

With sudden impulse forward sprung

The Page, and on her neck he hung;
Then, recollected instantly,

His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee,
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel,

Arose, and sudden left the cell.

The princess, loosen'd from his hold,
Blush'd angry at his bearing bold;

But good King Robert cried,

"Chafe not-by signs he speaks his mind, He heard the plan my care design'd,

Nor could his transports hide.

'But, sister, now bethink thee well;

No

easy choice the convent cell; Trust, I shall play no tyrant part, Either to force thy hand or heart, Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn,

Or

wrong

for thee, the Maid of Lorn.

But think,-not long the time has been,
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen,
And would'st the ditties best approve,
That told some lay of hapless love.
Now are thy wishes in thy power,
And thou art bent on cloister bower!
O! if our Edward knew the change,
How would his busy satire range,
With many a sarcasm varied still

On woman's wish, and woman's will!"—

XXIX.

"Brother, I well believe," she said,

"Even so would Edward's part be play'd. Kindly in heart, in word severe,

A foe to thought, and grief, and fear,
He holds his humour uncontroul'd;

But thou art of another mould.

Say then to Ronald, as I say,
Unless before my feet he lay

The ring which bound the faith he swore,

By Edith freely yielded o'er,

He moves his suit to me no more.

Nor do I promise, even if now

He stood absolved of spousal vow,

That I would change my purpose made,

To shelter me in holy shade.

Brother, for little space, farewell!

To other duties warns the bell.".

XXX.

"Lost to the world," King Robert said,

When he had left the royal maid,—
"Lost to the world by lot severe,

O what a gem lies buried here,
Nipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost,
The buds of fair affection lost!—
But what have I with love to do?
Far sterner cares my lot pursue.