The Garde Joyesse, amid the tale,
High reared its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale

In all its wonders spread.

Brengwain was there, and Segramore,
And field-born Merlin's gramayre;
Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?

Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,

Till bent at length the list'ning throng
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.

His ancient wounds their scars expand;
With agony his heart is wrung:

O where is Isolde's lily hand,

And where her soothing tongue?

She comes, she comes! like flash of flame

Can lovers' footsteps fly:

She comes, she comes! she only came

To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die: her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting breath:

The gentlest pair that Britain bare,
United are in death.

There paused the harp; its ling'ring sound

Died slowly on the ear

The silent guests still bent around,

For still they seemed to hear

Then wo broke forth in murmurs weak,
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,
The mists of evening close;

In camp, in castle, or in bower,
Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,
Dreamed o'er the woful tale

When footsteps light, across the bent,

The warrior's ears assail.

He starts, he wakes: What, Richard, ho! Arise, my page, arise!

What vent'rous wight, at dead of night,

Dare step where Douglas lies!"

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,
A selcouth sight they see-

A hart and hind pace side by side,
As white as snow on Fairnalie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,
They stately move and slow;

Nor scare they at the gath'ring crowd,
Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message sped,
As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,
And soon his clothes did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
Never a word he spake but three;
"My sand is run; my thread is spun;
This sign regardeth me."

The Elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise, he hung;
And on the wind, in doleful sound,
Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went; yet turned him oft

To view his ancient hall;

On the gray tower, in lustre soft,
The autumn moonbeams fall.

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,
Danced shimmʼring in the ray:
In deep'ning mass, at distance seen,
Broad Soltra's mountains lay.

"Farewell, my father's ancient tower!

A long farewell," said he:

"The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, Thou never more shalt be.

"To Learmont's name no foot of earth

Shall here again belong,

And on thy hospitable hearth

The hare shall leave her young.

"Adieu! Adieu!" again he cried,
And as he turned him roun'
"Farewell to Leader's silver tide!
Farewell to Ercildoune!"

The hart and hind approached the place,
As ling'ring yet he stood;

And there, before Lord Douglas' face,
With them he crossed the flood.

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed,
And spurred him the Leader o'er;
But, though he rode with lightning speed,
He never saw them more.

Some said to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had been;

But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

THE FIRE-KING.

BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear;

And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee,

At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

O see you that castle, so strong and so high?
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye?
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land,
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand?

"Now palmer, gray palmer, O tell unto me,

What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie?
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand?
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land ?”

"O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave, For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have; And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon,

For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have won."

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A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung; O'er the palmer's gray locks the fair chain has she flung "O palmer, gray palmer, this chain be thy fee,

For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie.

"O palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave,

Lon,

O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave?
When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rushed

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O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ? "