| |
| TORCHES were blazing clear, | |
| Hymns pealing deep and slow, | |
| Where a king lay stately on his bier | |
| In the church of Fontevraud. | |
| Banners of battle o’er him hung, | 5 |
| And warriors slept beneath, | |
| And light, as noon’s broad light, was flung | |
| On the settled face of death. | |
| |
| On the settled face of death | |
| A strong and ruddy glare; | 10 |
| Though dimmed at times by the censer’s breath, | |
| Yet it fell still brightest there: | |
| As if each deeply furrowed trace | |
| Of earthly years to show,— | |
| Alas! that sceptred mortal’s race | 15 |
| Had surely closed in woe! | |
| |
| The marble floor was swept | |
| By many a long dark stole, | |
| As the kneeling priests round him that slept | |
| Sang mass for the parted soul; | 20 |
| And solemn were the strains they poured | |
| Through the stillness of the night, | |
| With the cross above, and the crown and sword, | |
| And the silent king in sight. | |
| |
| There was heard a heavy clang | 25 |
| As of steel-girt men the tread, | |
| And the tombs and the hollow pavement rang | |
| With a sounding thrill of dread; | |
| And the holy chant was hushed awhile, | |
| As, by the torch’s flame, | 30 |
| A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, | |
| With a mail-clad leader came. | |
| |
| He came with a haughty look, | |
| An eagle glance and clear, | |
| But his proud heart through its breastplate shook, | 35 |
| When he stood beside the bier! | |
| He stood there still with a drooping brow, | |
| And clasped hands o’er it raised; | |
| For his father lay before him low;— | |
| It was Cœur de Lion gazed! | 40 |
| |
| And silently he strove | |
| With the workings of his breast; | |
| But there ’s more in late-repentant love | |
| Than steel can keep suppressed! | |
| And his tears brake forth, at last, like rain;— | 45 |
| Men held their breath in awe, | |
| For his face was seen by his warrior-train, | |
| And he recked not that they saw. | |
| |
| He looked upon the dead, | |
| And sorrow seemed to lie, | 50 |
| A weight of sorrow, even like lead, | |
| Pale on the fast-shut eye. | |
| He stooped, and kissed the frozen cheek, | |
| And the heavy hand of clay, | |
| Till bursting words, yet all too weak, | 55 |
| Gave his soul’s passion way. | |
| |
| “O father! is it vain, | |
| This late remorse and deep? | |
| Speak to me, father, once again. | |
| I weep,—behold, I weep! | 60 |
| Alas! my guilty pride and ire! | |
| Were but this work undone! | |
| I would give England’s crown, my sire, | |
| To hear thee bless thy son. | |
| |
| “Speak to me! mighty grief | 65 |
| Ere now the dust hath stirred! | |
| Hear me, but hear me! father, chief! | |
| My king! I must be heard. | |
| Hushed, hushed;—how is it that I call, | |
| And that thou answerest not? | 70 |
| When was it thus?—woe, woe for all | |
| The love my soul forgot! | |
| |
| “Thy silver hairs I see, | |
| So still, so sadly bright! | |
| And, father! father! but for me | 75 |
| They had not been so white! | |
| I bore thee down, high heart! at last, | |
| No longer couldst thou strive; | |
| O for one moment of the past | |
| To kneel and say,—‘Forgive!’ | 80 |
| |
| “Thou wert the noblest king | |
| On royal throne e’er seen; | |
| And thou didst wear, in knightly ring, | |
| Of all the stateliest mien; | |
| And thou didst prove, where spears are proved | 85 |
| In war, the bravest heart,— | |
| O, ever the renowned and loved | |
| Thou wert;—and there thou art! | |
| |
| “Thou, that my boyhood’s guide | |
| Didst take fond joy to be!— | 90 |
| The times I ’ve sported by thy side, | |
| And climbed the parent-knee! | |
| And there before the blessed shrine, | |
| My sire! I see thee lie; | |
| How will that still, sad face of thine | 95 |
| Look on me till I die!” | |
| |
