Her little hand can feel;

Sooth, it were harder to refift

That touch, than grasp of foe in lift
In mail of Milan steel!

Sir Roland stands unmoved and calm
And gently shifts afide her palm-
"Behold, fair Lady, by my fide
I ever bear with me my bride,
Thus belted to me close,

And I, my glory 'tis and pride,
A foldier of the

But ere he can his phrase complete The Lady springs upon her feet— "Hafte, Maidens, the repaft!

I wis thou mayft complain that we Do lack in hospitality,

And jeft while thou doft fast."

"I may not fit by night at board ·

Sir Roland ftands alone!

The maidens vanished at the word,

The Lady too is gone;

They paffed behind a woven screen,

Of tapestry, where ivy green
And tufts of lichen grey are seen,
And roots of faxifrage between
The piles of carven stone.

Sir Roland paces up and down,
Comes to his step no found;

The moffy floor of ruin lone,
A carpet like to this may own,
And every cushion, couch, and chair,
Doth green and ruffet covering wear,

Like mofs on bank or mound.

The walls are hung, like to the screen,
With tapestry of ivy green,

While briar and briony

Have cafement-frame and door embraced,

As with the ivy they are traced

Upon the tapestry;

And starred and coloured like the sky

Is all the ceiling, domy, high.

A found like wind 'mong leaves is heard;
The plume upon his helm is stirred;
The screen is lifted, as might be
By wind the bough of pendant tree,
Disclofing to the wondering knight
A banquet ferved on filver bright:
Ripe fruits, red wines, and dishes rare
That load with fragrance rich the air:
And there around their Lady's chair
The maidens ftanding, three and three

"Sir Knight, we wait thee now." Sir Roland, clafp thy rofarie

And think upon thy vow.

"Now Lady, do I grieve that thou

Haft feaft prepared for me;

From dark till dawn-'tis in my vow A-fafting I must be."

The Lady laughs and comes anear

"Sir Knight, Sir Knight of vow auftere,

Wilt deign upon my lute to hear

An air of Brittany?"

The lute is refting on her arm
Ere he can utter word,
And foon her rofy fingers charm
To life each flumbering chord;
At first a dull uncertain hum
From the awakening lute doth come,
Till fwelling full and loud,
Refponfive to her flying hand
It rifes, as at tourney grand
The din of gathering crowd.

The

Sir Roland ftoops the ftrain to hear;
memory of achievements dear
Back to his heart it brings;
The Laiffez-Aller fhrill and clear

As from a trumpet rings ;·

Bounds from the barrier the steed

Along the lifts at charging speed;

The shock, the crash of lance and mail, In conflict ftern, are blent,

And fhout and clamour, cheer and wail,

Are up to heaven sent:

The victor wheels his charger proud,

His crefted head is lowly bowed,

Soft floats the ftrain. The victor's meed

Is in his Lady's fmile;

He in her love-lit eyes may read

The guerdon of his knightly deed,

She to her bower fhall him lead,

A captive he the while;

Oh who would from fuch thrall be freed?

Sir Roland to the minstrel fair

Has raised his steady eye—

I trow no glance of love is there,
Parts from his lip no figh!

The ftrain is changed. The ringing lute

Is fmote by rapid hand

Now dull the heart and lame the foot

Such mufic can withstand!

And down like doves on fnowy wing

From cot to graffy lea,

Upon the ruffet carpet spring

The maidens, three and three;
With wreathed arms and waving hair
And
gauzy robes that float in air,
They meet, they mingle, part, unite
In mazy dance around the knight,

But calm and cold stands he,
As rock among the billows white

Of the embracing sea.

The strain fubfides. Each feparate note
Seems faintly on the air to float:

The maidens gather three and three :

The Lady rifes now

Sir Roland, clafp thy rofarie

And think upon thy vow.

She glides to where Sir Roland ftands,
The lute vibrating in her hands-
"One measure I will dance alone-"
She deftly hangs the lute upon

His folded arms, and straight is gone.
Away fhe bounds, with feet that glance.
And shimmer in the airy dance

In movements manifold—

""T is in my knightly vow, my hand

Shall twine but with the spear and brand.”

His words are few and cold.

Away fhe bounds, fustained and high,

Fresh luftre flashing from her

eye,

While every feature, every glance,

Seems with her giddy feet to dance
In ever changing harmony-

Pardie, the voice of lute would be

A found difcordant now!

Sir Roland, clafp thy rofarie

And think upon thy vow.

She dances round and round the knight,
As butterfly might wheel its flight