Cœur de Lion at the Bier of his Father.

17

CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER.

ORCHES were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,

Where a king lay stately on his bier

In the church of Fontivraud.

Banners of battle o'er him hung,

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;

'Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it still fell brightest there:

As if each deeply furrowed trace

Of earthly years to show,—

Alas! that sceptred mortal's race
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;

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
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,

A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle,
With a mail-clad leader came.

He came with haughty look,

An eagle glance and clear,

But his proud heart through his breastplate shook,
When he stood beside the bier!
He stood there still with drooping brow,

And clasped hands o'er it raised ;—

For his father lay before him low;-
It was Cœur de Lion gazed!

And silently he strove

With the workings in his breast; But there's more in late repentant love

Than steel can keep suppressed!

And his tears broke forth, at last, like rain;-
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,

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,

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!

Cœur de Lion at the Bier of his Father. 19

Alas! my guilty pride and ire!

Were but this work undone,

I would give England's crown, my sire,

To have thee bless thy son!

Speak to me! mighty grief,

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?

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

They had not been so white!
I bore thee down, high heart! at last,
No longer couldst thou strive;

Oh, for one moment of the past
To kneel and say, 'Forgive!'

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
In war, the bravest heart-

Oh, ever the renowned and loved

Thou wert; and there thou art!

Thou, that my boyhood's guide

Didst take fond joy to be!— 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

Look on me till I die!"

MRS. HEMANS.

HENRY I. AFTER THE DEATH OF HIS SON.*

(HE bark that held a prince went down,

The sweeping waves rolled on;

And what was England's glorious crown

To him that wept a son?

He lived, for life may long be borne

Ere sorrow break its chain?

Why comes not death to those who mourn?

He never smiled again!

There stood proud forms around his throne,

The stately and the brave,

But which could fill the place of one,

That one beneath the wave?

Before him passed the young and fair,

In pleasure's reckless train,

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair

He never smiled again!

He sat where festal bowls went round,

He heard the minstrels sing;

He saw the tourney's victor crowned

Amidst the knightly ring:

* It is recorded of Henry I. that after the death of his son Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile.

Henry V. and the Hermit.

A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain;

A voice of winds that would not sleep,—

He never smiled again!

Hearts in that time closed o'er the trace

Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;

Graves which true love had bathed with tears
Were left to heaven's bright rain,

Fresh hopes were born for other years—

He never smiled again!

MRS. HEMANS.

2r

HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.*

E past unquestioned through the camp,

Their heads the soldiers bent

In silent reverence, or begged

A blessing as he went;

And so the Hermit passed along

And reached the royal tent.

King Henry sate in his tent alone,

The map before him lay,

* "While Henry V. lay at the siege of Dreux, an honest Hermit unknown to him, came and told him the great evils he brought on Christendom by his unjust ambition, who usurped the kingdom of France, against all manner of right, and contrary to the will of God; wherefore, in His holy name, he threatened him with a severe and sudden punishment if he desisted not from his enterprise. Henry took this exhortation either as an idle whimsey, or a suggestion of the dauphin's, and was but the more confirmed in his design. But the blow soon followed the threatening; for, within some few months after, he was smitten with a strange and incurable disease."-Mezeray.