But his weal or wo is still the theme
Of my daily thought and my nightly dream.
Poor Alice is not proud or coy;
But her heart is with her minstrel boy."
Away from his arms the damsel bounded,
And left him more and more confounded.
He mused of the present, he mused of the past,
And he felt that a spell was o'er him cast;
He shed hot tears, he knew not why,
And talked to himself and made reply,
Till a calm o'er his troubled senses crept,
And, as the daylight waned, he slept.
Poor gentleman!-I need not say,
Beneath an ancient oak he lay.
"He is welcome," o'er his bed,
Thus the beauteous Fairy said: "He has conned the lesson now,
He has read the book of pain: There are furrows on his brow,
I must make it smooth again.
"Lo, I knock the spurs away;
Lo, I loosen belt and brand;
Hark! I hear the courser neigh
For his stall in Fairy-land.
"Bring the cap, and bring the vest,
Buckle on his sandal shoon;
Fetch his memory from the chest
In the treasury of the Moon.
"I have taught him to be wise,
For a little maiden's sake;Look, he opens his bright eyes,
Softly, slowly-minstrel, wake!"
The sun has risen, and Wilfrid is come
To his early friends and his cottage home.
His hazel eyes and his locks of gold
Are just as they were in the time of old :
But a blessing has been on the soul within,
For that is won from its secret sin;
More loving now, and worthier love
Of men below and of saints above.
He reins a steed with a lordly air,
Which makes his country cousins stare :
And he speaks in a strange and courtly phrase,
Though his voice is the voice of other days:
But where he has learned to talk and ride,
He will tell to none but his bonny bride.
Le Troubadour
Brulant d'amour.
In sooth it was a glorious day
For vassal and for lord,
When Cœur de Lion had the sway
In battle and at board.
He was indeed a royal one,
A Prince of Paladins ; Hero of triumph and of tun,
Of noisy fray and noisy fun,
Broad shoulders and broad grins.
You might have looked from east to west,
And then from north to south,
And never found an ampler breast,
Never an ampler mouth,
A softer tone for lady's ear,
A daintier lip for syrup,
Or a ruder grasp for axe and spear,
Or a firmer foot in stirrup.
A ponderous thing was Richard's can,
And so was Richard's boot,
And Saracens and liquor ran,
Where'er he set his foot.
So fiddling here, and fighting there,
And murdering time and tune,
With sturdy limb, and listless air,
And gauntleted hand, and jeweled hair,
Half monarch, half buffoon,
He turned away from feast to fray,
From quarreling to quaffing,
So great in prowess and in pranks,
So fierce and funny in the ranks,
That Saladin and Soldan said,
Whene'er that mad-cap Richard led,
Alla! he held his breath for dread,
And burst his sides for laughing!
At court, the humor of a king
Is always voted "quite the thing;"
Morals and cloaks are loose or laced
According to the Sovereign's taste,
And belles and banquets both are drest
Just as his majesty thinks best.
Of course in that delightful age,
When Richard ruled the roast,
Cracking of craniums was the rage,
And beauty was the toast.
Ay! all was laugh, and life, and love;
And lips and shrines were kiss'd;
And vows were ventured in the grove, And lances in the list;
And boys roamed out in sunny weather
To weave a wreath and rhyme together:
While dames, in silence, and in satin,
Lay listening to the soft French-Latin,
And flung their sashes and their sighs
From odor-breathing balconies.
From those bright days of love and glory,
I take the hero of my story.
A wandering Troubadour was he;
He bore a name of high degree,
And learned betimes to slay and
As knights of high degree should do.
While vigor nerved his buoyant arm,
And youth was his to cheat and charm,
Being immensely fond of dancing,
And somewhat given to romancing,
'He roamed about through towers and towns, Apostrophizing smiles and frowns,
Singing sweet staves to beads and bonnets
And dying, day by day, in sonnets.
Flippant and fair, and fool enough,
And careless where he met rebuff,
Poco-curante in all cases
Of furious foes, or pretty faces,
With laughing lip, and jocund eye,
And studied tear, and practised sigh,
And ready sword, and ready verse,
And store of ducats in his purse,
He sinned few crimes, loved many times,
And wrote a hundred thousand rhymes!
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