: Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, The Abbot seemed with eye severe But twice his courage came and sunk, Confronted with the hero's look; And from his pale blue eyes were "Thrice vanquished on the battle plain, Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or ta'en, A hunted wanderer on the wild, Blessed in the hall and in the field, De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame, What lengthened honors wait thy name! In distant ages, sire to son Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be blessed!" *Henry de Joyeuse, Comte du Bouchage, Frère puiné du Duc de Joyeuse, tué à Coutras. Un jour qu'il passoit à Paris à quatre heures du matin, près du Convent des Capucins, après avoir passé la nuit en débauche, il s'imagina que les Anges chantoient Matines dans le Couvent. Frappé de cette idée, il se fit Capucin, sous le noin de Frère-Ange.' Cette anecdote est tirée des Notes sur l'Henriade." - Mé. moires de Sully, Livre Dixième, Note 67. 66 My knee is stiff with steel, And will not bend it well. 'My sins!' A peerless knight like me, What should he have to tell? "I never turned in fight Till treason wrought my harm, Nor then, before my shattered sword Weighed down my shattered arm. "I never broke mine oath, Forgot my friend or foe, Nor left a benefit unpaid With weal, or wrong with woe. Keep thee from me!' * I said, Still, ere my blows began, Nor gashed mine unarmed enemy, t Nor smote a felled man, “Observing every rule Of generous chivalry; And maid and matron ever found A champion leal in me. "What gallantly I won In war, I did not hoard, But spent as gallantly in peace, With neighbors round my board." "Thy neighbors, son? The serfs For miles who tilled thy ground?" "Tush, father, nay! The high-born knights For many a league around. "They were my brethren sworn, In battle and in sport. "Twere wondrous shame, should one like me With beggar kernes consort! "Clean have I made my shrift," With words both soft and keen, Or, "That is, sure, no sin." *The regular form of announcement that a single combat had begun between knights. "To smyte a wounded man that may not stonde, God deffende me from such a shame." Wyt thon well, Syr Gawayn, I wyl neuer smvte a fellyd knight."- - Prose Romance of King Arthur. |