SIR MAURICE. A Ballad.

SIR MAURICE . A Ballad . SIR MAURICE was a wealthy lord , He lived in the north countrie ; Well could he cope with foeman's sword , Or the glance of a lady's eye . Now all his armed vassals wait , A staunch and burly band , Before his stately Castle's gate , Bound for the Holy Land . Above the spearmen's lengthened file , Are pictured ensigns flying ; Stroked by their keeper's hand the while , Are harnessed chargers neighing . And looks of woe , and looks of cheer , And looks the two between , On many a warlike face appear , Where tears have lately been . For all they love is left behind , Hope beckons them before ; Their parting sails swell with the wind , Blown from their native shore . Then through the crowded portal passed Six goodly knights and tall , Sir Maurice himself , who came the last , Was goodliest of them all . And proudly roved his hasty eye O'er all the warlike train ; — " Save ye ! brave comrades ! — prosperously , Heaven send us cross the main ! " But see I right ? — an armed band From Moorham's lordless hall ; And he , who bears the high command , Its ancient Seneschal ! " Return , your stately keep defend ; Defend your lady's bower , Lest rude and lawless hands should rend , That lone and lovely flower . " " God will defend our lady dear , And we will cross the sea , From slavery's chain , his lot severe , Our noble lord to free . " " Nay , nay ! some wandering minstrel's tongue , Hath framed a story vain ; Thy lord , his liege-men brave among , Near Acre's wall was slain . " " Nay , good my lord ! for had his life Been lost on battle-ground , When ceased that fell and fatal strife , His body had been found . " " No faith to such delusion give ; His mortal term is past " — " Not so , not so ! he is alive , And will be found at last ! " These latter words , right eagerly , From a slender stripling broke , Who stood the ancient warrior by , And trembled as he spoke . Sir Maurice started at the sound , And all , from top to toe , The stripling scanned , who to the ground , His blushing face bent low . " Is this thy kinsman , Seneschal ? Thy own or thy sister's son ? A gentler page , in tent or hall , Mine eyes ne'er looked upon . " To thine own home return , fair youth ! To thine own home return ; Give ear to likely , sober truth , Nor prudent counsel spurn . " War suits thee not if boy thou art ; And if a sweeter name Befit thee , do not lightly part With maiden's honoured fame . " He turned him from his liege-men all , Who round their chieftain pressed ; His very shadow on the wall , His troubled mind expressed . As sometimes slow and sometimes fast He paced to and fro , His plumy crest now upwards cast In air , now drooping low . Sometimes , like one in frantic mood , Short words of sound he uttered , And sometimes , stopping short , he stood As to himself he muttered : " A daughter's love , a maiden's pride ! And may they not agree ? Could man desire a lovelier bride , A truer friend than she ? " Down , cursed thought ! a boy's garb , Betrays not wanton will ; Yet sharper than an arrow's barb , That fear might wound me still . " He muttered long , then to the gate Returned and looked around , But the Seneschal and his stripling mate Were nowhere to be found . With outward cheer and inward smart , In warlike , fair array , Did Maurice with his bands depart , And shoreward bent his way . Their stately ship rode near to port , The warriors to receive , And there , with blessings kind but short , Did friends of friends take leave . And soon they saw the crowded strand Wear dimly from their view , And soon they saw the distant land , A line of hazy blue . The white-sailed ship with favouring breeze , In all her gallant pride , Moved like the mistress of the seas , That rippled far and wide . Sometimes with steady course she went , O'er wave and surge careering , Sometimes with sidelong mast she bent , Her wings the sea-foam sheering . Sometimes with poles and rigging bare She scudded before the blast , But safely by the Syrian shore Her anchor dropped at last . What martial honours Maurice won , Joined with the brave and great , From the fierce , faithless Saracen , I may not here relate . With boldest band on bridge or moat , With champion on the plain , I' the narrow bloody breach he fought , Choked up with grizzly slain . Most valiant by the valiant deemed , Their praise his deeds proclaimed , And the eyes of his liege-men brightly beamed , When they heard their leader named . But fate will quell the hero's strength , And dim the loftiest brow , And this our noble chief at length Was in the dust laid low . He lay the heaps of dead beneath , As sunk life's flickering flame , And thought it was the trance of death , That o'er his senses came . And when again day's blessed light Did on his vision fall , There stood by his side — a wondrous sight — The ancient Seneschal . He strove , but could not utter word ; His misty senses fled ; Again he woke , and Moorham's lord Was bending o'er his bed . A third time sank he as if dead , And then his eye-lids raising , He saw a chief with turbaned head , Intently on him gazing . " The Prophet's zealous servant I ; His battles I've fought and won ; Christians I scorn , their creeds deny , But honour Mary's Son . " And I have wedded an English Dame , And set her parent free ; And none who bear an English name , Shall e'er be thralled by me . " For her dear sake I can endure All wrong , all hatred smother ; Whate'er I feel , thou art secure , As though thou wert my brother . " " And thou hast wedded an English Dame ! " Sir Maurice said no more , For o'er his heart soft weakness came , He sighed and wept full sore . And many a dreary day and night , With the Moslem Chief stayed he , But ne'er could catch , to bless his sight , One glimpse of the fair lady . Oft gazed he on her lattice high , As he paced the court below , And turned his listening ear to try , If word or accent low Might haply reach him there ; and oft Traversed the garden green , And thought some footstep , small and soft , Might on the turf be seen . And oft to Moorham's lord he gave His eager ear , who told How he became a wretched slave , Within that Syrian hold ; What time from liege-men parted far , Upon the battle-field , By stern and adverse fate of war , He was compelled to yield : And how his daughter did by stealth , So boldly cross the sea , With secret store of gathered wealth , To set her father free : And how into the foemen's hands She and her people fell ; And how ( herself in captive bands , ) She sought him in his cell ; And but a captive boy appeared , Till grief her sex betrayed ; And the fierce Saracen , so feared , Spoke kindly to the maid : How for her plighted hand sued he , And solemn promise gave , Her noble father should be free , With every Christian slave ; ( For many there , in bondage kept , Felt the base rule of vice , ) How long she pondered , sorely wept , Then paid the fearful price . A tale that made his bosom thrill , — His faded eyes to weep ; He waking thought upon it still , And saw it in his sleep . But harness rings , and the trumpet's bray , Again to battle calls , And Christian Powers in grand array , Are near those Moslem walls . Sir Maurice heard ; untoward fate ! Sad to be thought upon ! But the Castle's lord unlocked its gate , And bade his guest be gone . " Fight thou for faith by thee adored , By thee so well maintained ; But never may this trusty sword , With blood of thine be stained ! " Sir Maurice took him by the hand , " God bless thee too ! " — he cried ; Then to the nearest Christian band , With mingled feelings hied . The battle joined , with dauntless pride , 'Gainst foemen , foemen stood , And soon the fatal field was dyed With many a brave man's blood . At length gave way the Moslem force ; Their valiant Chief was slain ; Maurice protected his corse , And bore it from the plain . There's mourning in the Moslem halls , A dull and dismal sound ; The lady left its 'leaguered walls , And safe protection found . When months were past , the widowed Dame Looked calm and cheerfully ; Then Maurice to her presence came , And bent him on his knee . What words of penitence or suit He uttered , pass we by ; The lady wept , a while was mute , Then gave this firm reply : " That thou didst doubt my maiden pride , ( A thought that rose and vanished . So fleetingly ) I will not chide ; 'Tis from remembrance banished . " But thy fair fame , earned by that sword , Still spotless shall it be : I was the bride of a Moslem lord , And will never be bride to thee . " So firm though gentle was her look , Hope in the instant fled ; A solemn , dear farewell he took , And from her presence sped . And she a plighted nun became , God serving day and night ; And he of blest Jerusalem , A brave and zealous knight . But that their lot was one of woe , Wot ye , because of this Their separate single state ? — if so , In sooth ye judge amiss . She tends the helpless stranger's bed , For alms her wealth is stored ; On her meek worth God's grace is shed , Man's grateful blessings poured . He still in warlike mail doth stalk , In arms his prowess prove ; And oft of siege or battle talk , And sometimes of his love . His noble countenance the while , Would youthful listeners please , When with altered voice , and a sweet sad smile He uttered such words as these : " She was the fairest of the fair , The gentlest of the kind ; Search ye the wide world every where , Her like ye shall not find . " She was the fairest , is the best , Too good for a monarch's bride ; I would not give her , in nun's coif drest , For all her sex beside . "