Let old Timotheus yield the prize,
Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.
THE FEARLESS DE COURCY.
THE fame of the fearless De Courcy
Is boundless as the air;
With his own right hand he won the land
Of Ulster, green and fair!
But he lieth low in a dungeon now,
Powerless, in proud despair;
For false King John hath cast him in,
And closely chained him there.
The false King sat on his throne of state,
'Mid knights and nobles free;
"Who is there," he cried, "who will cross the tide,
And do battle in France for me ?
There is cast on mine honor a fearful stain-
The death of the boy who ruled Bretagne;
And the monarch of France, my bold suzerain,
Hath bidden a champion for me to appear,
My fame from this darkening blot to clear.
Speak is your silence the silence of fear,
My knights and my nobles? Frowning and pale
Your faces grow as I tell my tale!
Is there not one of this knightly ring,
Who dares to battle for his king?
Oh! out then spake the beauteous queen :
"A captive knight 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;
Then 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.
He gazes on the monarch
With stern and star-like eye;
And the company muse and marvel much,
That the light of the old man's eye is such,
After long captivity.
His fetters hang upon him
Like an unheeded thing;
Or like a robe of purple worn
With graceful and indifferent scorn
By some great-hearted king.
And strange it was to witness
How the false King looked aside;
For he dared not meet his captive's eye!
The false King spake to his squires around,
And his lifted voice had an angry sound:
"Strike ye the chains from each knightly limb!
Who was so bold as to fetter him?
Warrior, believe me, no hest of mine
Bade them to fetter a form like thine;
Thy sovereign knoweth thy fame too well."
He paused, and a cloud on his dark brow fell:
For the knight still gazed upon him,
And his eye was like a star;
And the words on the lips of the false King died,
Like the murmuring sounds of an ebbing tide
By the traveler heard afar.
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,
Blending 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 honor of England,
Though not for false King John!"
He hath crossed the booming ocean;
On the shore he plants his lance;
And he sends his daring challenge
Into the heart of France:
"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 you all!"
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 far 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 King
Oft must this burthen ring —
Though the crown be thine, and the royal Ine,
He is in heart thy king!"
HOARSE wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung
To the departed day,
Upon whose bier
The velvet pall of midnight had been flung,
And nature mourned through one wide hemisphere Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway,
Save in the haunts of riotous excess;
And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay,
Lost in the maze of sweet forgetfulness.
When lo! upon the startled ear,
There broke a sound so dread and drear
As, like a sudden peal of thunder,
Burst the bands of sleep asunder,
And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear
Hark! the faithful watchman's cry
Speaks a conflagration nigh!-
See! yon glare upon the sky,
Confirms the fearful tale.
The deep-mouthed bells, with rapid tone,
Combine to make the tidings known;
Affrighted silence now has flown,
And sounds of terror fright the chilly gale!
At the first note of this discordant din,
The gallant fireman from his slumber starts;
Reckless of toil and danger, if he win
The tributary meed of grateful hearts.
From pavement rough, or frozen ground,
His engine's rattling wheels resound,
A female shriek, so piercing wild,
As makes his very life-blood start:
"My child! Almighty God, my child!"
He hears,
And 'gainst the tottering wall,
The ponderous ladder rears;
While blazing fragments round him fall,
And crackling sounds assail his ears.
His sinewy arm, with one rude crash,
Hurls to the earth the opposing sash;
And heedless of the startling din,
Though smoky volumes round him roll,
The mother's shriek has pierced his soul,
See! see! he plunges in!
The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears,
In breathless expectation stands,
When lo! the daring youth appears,
Hailed by a burst of warm, ecstatic cheers,
Bearing the child triumphant in his hands!
BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !
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