And with bright touch illumined when he told
Upon this very earth, this clouded earth,
When stainless chivalry and knightly worth
Were not as fables and inventions fine;
When honour was alive and daily seen,
Sunning the light where swords or sceptres shine,
Where its awards were deemed the goodliest wages
For daring deeds.-Oh, that unwintry season;
Few now believe that such could e'er have been,
So dwarfed are men, so fallen in sorry treason
'Gainst the old worship of the statelier scene!
Ye scoffers, has not Bayard lived-and died?
Has not the saint of honour and full fame,
Sidney, displayed the marvel of his life
Upon the very soil where, far and wide,
The money-changers pant in their poor strife,
As though the land ne'er brightened with his name.
Have the dread soldiers of the Sepulchre,
The bands of Rhodes, the pilgrims of the Cross
Have those wrought feats heroically fair,
To find their toils a misremembered loss?
Smile ye, dull herd, at such high names, the while?
Ah, there is nought so rueful as your smile!
To bootless gain, to wilful bondage sold,
Impoverished most piteously with gold,
Yours is the madness of low creeping cares,—
The wisdom to be noble still was theirs.
'Twas in that proudest time that Earth e'er knew,
King William reigned o'er Sicily, and grew
Famous for princely faith and courtesy ;
And thus he prospered to his latest eld,
Happy in all, save that an only son,
Whose goodly promise he had joyed to see,
Untimely died yet Heaven hath spared him one
To chase the gloom from off his waning years;
Gerbino calls him grand-sire,—still beheld
A brightened image of the lost, as though
That old King's tears from out the clay had won him, And he, the mourned, had risen from his rest,
With all the bliss of his sweet sleep upon him,
And somewhat of the angel in his mien ;
Thus heired, in his new self he reappears.
This youthful prince outsped his bold compeers
In every daring deed of warlike show,
Or great adventure; and where he was seen
Came sweet disquiet to each gentler breast.
'The Beautiful' they called him, and in sooth,
No other clime could boast a goodlier youth.
Bounteous he was; and many minstrels told
His early prowess in the lordly halls
Of other lands, in every joyous hold,
Where noble ladies, at high festivals,
Sighed unto him from regions far asunder,
With many a word of praise and gentle wonder.
Even to Paynim realms of Barbary
His winged name went kindling love about.
But of all those who fondly heard his fame,
None hearkened with such yearning of delight
As that young royal beauty, Valideh,
Whose sire held Tunis in his sceptred sway:
And ne'er was Sultan with such glory dight
Who in her choice had not more glorious been;
By a King's side ne'er shone so sweet a Queen,
Nor ever champion bled for lovelier dame.
Lofty in soul was she, and quick of thought,
And most the lays of knighthood won her ear;
But of Gerbino would that Princess hear
Untired, into the depth of midnight dull,
For that they named him, still, 'The Beautiful';
Certes, 'twas this that in her spirit wrought.
And, on the morrow, she would task her soul
To shape him forth, until an image came
Between her and all dim realities
Of outward sight, such as young lovers frame
In the first cloudless advent of desire,
The time of tearless musing, heartful ease;
Nor once against such fantasy she strove,
But with strange hope borne every fear above,
Dreamed into all the blessedness of love.
"Tis much the custom of that race to hide
Those lights of life, too rarely else descried,
Thus narrowing, yet exalting passion's fire:
But still the wonder of her loveliness
May not be hidden, but from heart to heart
Reaches the shores of many seas apart,
In Christendom or Heatheness, and is found
Among Love's true believers far around,
Till all his wayward sectaries are won
To that diviner faith which owned but her alone,
The May-queen of all those whom hope and beauty bless.
Befel upon that vigil, that soft eve
Of a hoped festal-time, too slow to dawn,
Ere she had learned in absence yet to grieve,
Ere yet to any woe her sighs were drawn,
Within the haram-bower was brought one day
A Frankish trafficker in gems, who sought
Before that lofty one to make display
Of his rich casket-treasure,―girdles wrought
With purest pearl; tiaras fit to deck
A queen-bride newly throned; and for her neck
Circlets of twined sapphire which might seem
The dainty task of some light-handed fay:
But there the diamond shot its sovereign beam
O'er rainbow-tinted glories of the mine.
Those long she eyed; and much the Princess praised
Each precious work: but, as her looks she raised
To question somewhat, changed as by a spell,
The grey-beard Frank was gone, and in his stead
A comely squire before her bent, and said
His secret errand, and in parlance fine
Told all of love that loveless tongue may tell,
Teaching her how that famed Sicilian Prince
Breathed but for her, and vowed himself, long since,
To be her knight at tourney, and in field,
Beseeching for sweet ruth that she'd receive
Those tokens of true homage, and believe
His offered faith.-"Oh can it truly be?
"Can the poor day such undreamt joyance yield ?
"Is love, then, still a god?"-Thus questioned she
Her heart, one giddy moment ;-then her voice
Came tuned with gentle bliss, and sweetly trembled,
As would an angel's lute, ere Heaven's great quire rejoice
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