And he turned aside, in bootless pride,
That witness of his guilt to hide;
Yet every heart around him there,
Witness against him more strongly bare!
Oh, out then spake his beauteous queen:
"A captive lord I know,
Whose loyal heart hath ever been
Eager to meet the foe;
Were true De Courcy here this day,
Freed from his galling chain,
Never, oh never should scoffers say,
That amid all England's rank and might,
Their king had sought him a loyal knight,
And sought such knight in vain!"
Up started the monarch, and cleared his brow
And bade them summon De Courcy now.
Swiftly his messengers hasted away,
And sought the cell where the hero lay;
They bade him arise at his master's call,
And follow their steps to the stately hall.
He is brought before the council-
There are chains upon his hands;
With his silver hair, that aged knight,
Like a rock o'erhung with foam-wreaths white,
Proudly and calmly stands.
From the warrior's form they loosed the chain; 'His face was lighted with calm disdain; Nor cheek, nor lip, nor eye gave token E'en that he knew his chains were broken He spake no music, loud or clear,
Was in the voice of the grey-haired knight; But a low stern sound, like that ye hear
In the march of a mail-clad host by night. "Brother of Coeur de Lion," said he, "These chains have not dishonoured me!" There was crushing scorn in each simple word, Mightier than battle-axe or sword.
Not long did the heart of the false king thrill
To the touch of passing shame,
For it was hard, and mean, and chill;
As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill,
Leaving it cold and unbroken still,
That feeling went and came;
And now to the knight he made reply,
Pleading his cause right craftily;
Skilled was his tongue in specious use
Of promise fair and of feigned excuse,
Blended with words of strong appeal
To love of fame and to loyal zeal.
At length he ceased; and every eye
Gazed on De Courcy wistfully.
Speak!" cried the king in that fearful pause; "Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause?"
'The old knight struck his foot on the ground, Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound; And he spake with a voice of thunder,
Solemn and fierce in tone,
Waving his hand to the stately band
Who stood by the monarch's throne,
As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive
When cheering his squadrons on:
"I will fight for the honour of England,
But not for false King John!"
'He turned and strode from the lofty hall,
Nor seemed to hear the sudden cheer
Which burst, as he spake, from the lips of all.
9 And when he stood in the air without,
He paused as if in joyful doubt;
To the forests green and the wide blue sky
Stretching his arms embracingly,
With stately tread and uplifted head,
As a good steed tosses back his mane
When they loose his neck from the servile rein;
Ye know not, ye who are always free,
How precious a thing is liberty.
10 "O world!" he cried; "sky, river, hill,
Ye wear the garments of beauty still;
How have ye kept your youth so fair,
While age has whitened this hoary hair?"
But when the squire, who watched his lord,
Gave to his hand his ancient sword,
"The hilt he pressed to his eager breast,
Like one who a long-lost friend hath met;
And joyously said, as he kissed the blade,
"Methinks there is youth in my spirit yet.
For France! for France! o'er the waters blue,
False king-dear land-adieu, adieu!”
He hath crossed the booming ocean,
On the shore he plants his lance;
And he sends his daring challenge
Into the heart of France:
And he turned aside, in bootless pride,
That witness of his guilt to hide;
Yet every heart around him there,
Witness against him more strongly bare!
Oh, out then spake his beauteous queen:
"A captive lord I know,
Whose loyal heart hath ever been
Eager to meet the foe;
Were true De Courcy here this day,
Freed from his galling chain,
Never, oh never should scoffers say,
That amid all England's rank and might,
Their king had sought him a loyal knight,
And sought such knight in vain!"
Up started the monarch, and cleared his brow
And bade them summon De Courcy now.
Swiftly his messengers hasted away,
And sought the cell where the hero lay;
They bade him arise at his master's call,
And follow their steps to the stately hall.
He is brought before the council-
There are chains upon his hands;
With his silver hair, that aged knight,
Like a rock o'erhung with foam-wreaths white,
Proudly and calmly stands.
From the warrior's form they loosed the chain; 'His face was lighted with calm disdain; Nor cheek, nor lip, nor eye gave token E'en that he knew his chains were broken He spake no music, loud or clear,
Was in the voice of the grey-haired knight; But a low stern sound, like that ye hear
In the march of a mail-clad host by night. "Brother of Coeur de Lion," said he, "These chains have not dishonoured me!" There was crushing scorn in each simple word, Mightier than battle-axe or sword.
Not long did the heart of the false king thrill
To the touch of passing shame,
For it was hard, and mean, and chill;
As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill,
Leaving it cold and unbroken still,
That feeling went and came;
And now to the knight he made reply,
Pleading his cause right craftily;
Skilled was his tongue in specious use
Of promise fair and of feigned excuse,
Blended with words of strong appeal
To love of fame and to loyal zeal.
At length he ceased; and every eye
Gazed on De Courcy wistfully.
"Speak!" cried the king in that fearful pause; "Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause?"
The old knight struck his foot on the ground,
Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound;
And he spake with a voice of thunder,
Solemn and fierce in tone,
Waving his hand to the stately band
Who stood by the monarch's throne,
As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive
When cheering his squadrons on:
"I will fight for the honour of England,
But not for false King John!"
He turned and strode from the lofty hall,
Nor seemed to hear the sudden cheer
Which burst, as he spake, from the lips of all.
And when he stood in the air without,
He paused as if in joyful doubt;
To the forests green and the wide blue sky
Stretching his arms embracingly,
With stately tread and uplifted head,
As a good steed tosses back his mane
When they loose his neck from the servile rein;
Ye know not, ye who are always free,
How precious a thing is liberty.
10 "O world!" he cried; "sky, river, hill,
Ye wear the garments of beauty still;
How have ye kept your youth so fair,
While age has whitened this hoary hair?"
But when the squire, who watched his lord,
Gave to his hand his ancient sword,
"The hilt he pressed to his eager breast,
Like one who a long-lost friend hath met;
And joyously said, as he kissed the blade,
"Methinks there is youth in my spirit yet.
For France! for France! o'er the waters blue,
False king-dear land-adieu, adieu!"
He hath crossed the booming ocean,
On the shore he plants his lance;
And he sends his daring challenge
Into the heart of France:
12 Lo, here I stand for England,
Queen of the silver main!
To guard her fame and to cleanse her name
From slander's darkening stain!
Advance, advance! ye knights of France,
Give answer to my call;
Lo! here I stand for England,
And I defy ye all!"
13 From the east and the north came champions forth-
They came in a knightly crowd;
From the south and the west each generous breast
Throbbed at that summons proud.
But though brave was each lord, and keen each sword,
No warrior could withstand
The strength of the hero-spirit
Which nerved that old man's hand.
He is conqueror in the battle
He hath won the wreath of bay;
To the shining crown of his fair renown
He hath added another ray;
He hath drawn his sword for England;
He hath fought for her spotless name;
And the isle resounds to her farthest bounds
With her gray-haired hero's fame.
In the ears of the craven monarch,
Oft must this burthen ring
"Though the crown be thine and the royal line,
He is in heart thy king!"
So they gave this graceful honour
To the bold De Courcy's race,
That they ever should dare their helms to wear
Before the king's own face:
And the sons of that line of heroes
To this day their right assume;
For, when every head is unbonneted,
They walk in cap and plume!
Lays from English History by S. M.
1 Cheerful tones: voice varied, and suspended at the end of each, finishing at Spring, and changing on are. 2 Ironical narrative. 3 Tone of regret. Tone of admiration. 5 Plain narrative. Discontent. "Sneering. Spirited narrative. Indifference. 10 Disgust.
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn, to watch his majestic rising from the gilded East, to contemplate the rosy-fingered morning,
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