THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.
1.
High deeds achieved of knightly fame,
From Palestine the champion came;
The cross upon his shoulders borne,
Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn.
Each dint upon his batter'd shield
Was token of a foughten field;
And thus, beneath his lady's bower,
He sung as fell the twilight hour:-2.
"Joy to the fair!--thy knight behold,
Return'd from yonder land of gold;
No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need,
Save his good arms and battle-steed
His spurs, to dash against a foe,
His lance and sword to lay him low;
Such all the trophies of his toil,
Such--and the hope of Tekla's smile!
3.
"Joy to the fair! whose constant knight
Her favour fired to feats of might;
Unnoted shall she not remain,
Where meet the bright and noble train;
Minstrel shall sing and herald tell--
'Mark yonder maid of beauty well,
'Tis she for whose bright eyes were won
The listed field at Askalon!
4.
"'Note well her smile!--it edged the blade
Which fifty wives to widows made,
When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell,
Iconium's turban'd Soldan fell.
Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow?
Twines not of them one golden thread,
But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 5.
"Joy to the fair!--my name unknown,
Each deed, and all its praise thine own
Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate,
The night dew falls, the hour is late.
Inured to Syria's glowing breath,
I feel the north breeze chill as death;
Let grateful love quell maiden shame,
And grant him bliss who brings thee fame."
During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself much like a
first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. He reclined back
upon his seat, with his eyes half shut; now, folding his hands and
twisting his thumbs, he seemed absorbed in attention, and anon,
balancing his expanded palms, he gently flourished them in time to the
music. At one or two favourite cadences, he threw in a little assistance
of his own, where the knight's voice seemed unable to carry the air
so high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song was ended, the
anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and well sung.
"And yet," said he, "I think my Saxon countrymen had herded long enough
with the Normans, to fall into the tone of their melancholy ditties.
What took the honest knight from home? or what could he expect but to
find his mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on his return, and his
serenade, as they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a
cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to thee,
to the success of all true lovers--I fear you are none," he added, on
observing that the knight (whose brain began to be heated with these
repeated draughts) qualified his flagon from the water pitcher.