And alas! as he led, that festive night,
His mistress down the stair,

And felt, by the flambeau's flickering light,
That she was very fair,

He did not guess-as they paused to hear How music's dying tone

Came mournfully to the distant ear,

With a magic all its own

That the archer god, to thrall his soul,
Was lingering in the porch,

Disguised that evening, like my Whole,
With a sooty face and torch.

XIV.

WHEN Ralph by holy hands was tied
For life to blooming Cis,

Sir Thrifty too drove home his bride,
A fashionable Miss,

That day, my First, with jovial sound,
Proclaimed the happy tale,

And drunk was all the country round
With pleasure or with ale.

Oh, why should Hymen ever blight
The roses Cupid wore?—

Or why should it be ever night

Where it was day before?

Or why should women have a tongue,
Or why should it be cursed,

In being, like my Second, long,
And louder than my First?

"You blackguard!” cries the rural wench,

My lady screams,

66 Ah, bête!"

And Lady Thrifty scolds in French,

And Cis in Billingsgate;

Till both their Lords my Second try,
To end connubial strife-

Sir Thrifty hath the means to die,
And Ralph-to beat his wife!

XV.

LORD ROLAND by the gay torchlight

Held revel in his hall;

He broached my First, that jovial knight,
And pledged his vassals tall;

The red stream went from wood to can,
And then from can to mouth,

And the deuce a man knew how it ran,

Nor heeded, north or south:

"Let the health go wide," Lord Ronald cried, As he saw the river flow

"One cup to-night to the noblest Bride, And one to the stontest foe!"

Lord Ronald kneeled, when the morning came,

Low in his mistress' bower;

And she gave him my Second, that beauteous dame,

For a spell in danger's hour:

Her silver shears were not at hand;

And she smiled a playful smile,
As she cleft it with her lover's brand,
And grew not pale the while:

And "Ride, and ride," Lord Ronald cried,

As he kissed its auburn glow;

"For he that woos the noblest Bride

Must beard the stoutest Foe!"

Lord Ronald stood, when the day shone fair,

In his garb of glittering mail;

And marked how my Whole was crumbling

there

With the battle's iron hail:

The bastion and the battlement

On many a craven crown,

Like rocks from some huge mountain rent,

Were trembling darkly down: "Whate'er betide," Lord Ronald cried, As he bade his trumpets blow"I shall win to-day the noblest Bride, Or fall by the stoutest Foe!"

XVI.

I GRACED Don Pedro's revelry,
All dressed in fire and feather,
When loveliness and chivalry
Were met to feast together.
He flung the slave who moved the lid,
A purse of maravedis;

And this that gallant Spaniard did,
For me and for the ladies.

He vowed a vow, that noble knight,
Before he went to table,

To make his only sport the fight,
His only couch the stable,

Till he had dragged, as he was bid,
Five score of Turks to Cadiz ;-
And this that gallant Spaniard did,
For me and for the ladies.

To ride through mountains, where my First
A banquet would be reckoned;
Through deserts, where to quench their thirst
Men vainly turn my Second.
To leave the gates of fair Madrid,
To dare the gates of Hades;-
And this that gallant Spaniard did,
For me and for the ladies.

XVII.

He talked of daggers and of darts,
Of passions and of pains,

Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts,
Of kisses and of chains;

He said, though love was kin to grief,
She was not born to grieve;
He said, though many rued belief,
She safely might believe;

But still the lady shook her head,
And swore, by yea and nay,
My Whole was all that he had said,
And all that he could say.