5

Frown not, sweet maid! when clarions call
If still my war-steed paws the stall,
My lance leans rusting on the wall,
My sword unsheath'd is never;
My shield is lost, my gauntlets stray,
And, if I with thy tresses play,
Or touch the lute, or breathe a lay,
Forgive my weak endeavour.

6

Let others quaff the Lusian wine,
Let others cull the Cyprian vine,
Or woo the maids of Palestine,

With eyes like lynxes' flashing :
Yet bid me, and once more I'll bound
O'er Ocean, and on God's own ground
Charge-to the trumpet's glorious sound,

With the drums and cymbals clashing.

CANTO II.

No sooner ended was the song

Than the lamps paled, the brilliant throng
To corpses changed in sheet and shroud,
And o'er the Hall a pall-like cloud

Was spread, and on the uneven ground
I sank as on a churchyard's mound,
And slept as if I too were dead.
How long upon my cold damp bed
I lay, I knew not; but at last
A wild yet gleesome trumpet-blast
Roused me, and then into the night
By the long torches' flaring light

Forth from the Castle's gate, thrown wide,

While the gaunt warders stood each side,

B

Rode first that knightly form superb
Upon a steed he scarce could curb,
Follow'd by Cornwall's chivalry;
And I was in their company,

Or rather kept in the same track
Upon my jaded, fleshless hack.

I heard some names that we still spell,
Trelawny, Granville, Arundell,
Trevanion, and like doughty men,
But most began with Tre, Pol, Pen.
And, when their horses touch'd the turf,
They flew and foam'd like ocean's surf;
Down through the rocky glens they dash,
Among the granite splinters crash,

While their hoofs scatter flakes of fire;
Then plunge through flood and bog and mire.

It seem'd a band of Demon Knights,
With hell-hounds hunting evil sprites.

And so they travell'd all the day,

As fast, as reckless, and as gay.

Their coursers fleeter than the wind,

They soon had left me far behind;

Yet from ravines and woodlands hollow

I heard them shout, and scarce dared follow.
At times they like a pack would yell,

Then groans of some mishap would tell;
But through the din the Gascon's laugh
Rang like a well-plied quarterstaff
On some hard pate at Lammas fair,
Provoking growls as from a bear.

They seem'd to ride for life or death,
And paused but seldom to take breath.
At length towards a moated Keep

Around a hill I saw them sweep;

And then I heard a bugle-horn

Peal loud and clear; and there till morn

They rested, and renew'd the feast,

While I, dismounting, fed my beast.

Soon as the shades of night were gone They harness'd, and again prick'd on,