| |
| LO! I must tell a tale of chivalry; | |
| For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye. | |
| Not like the formal crest of latter days: | |
| But bending in a thousand graceful ways; | |
| So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand, | 5 |
| Or e’en the touch of Archimago’s wand, | |
| Could charm them into such an attitude. | |
| We must think rather, that in playful mood, | |
| Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight, | |
| To show this wonder of its gentle might. | 10 |
| Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; | |
| For while I muse, the lance points slantingly | |
| Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet, | |
| Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet, | |
| From the worn top of some old battlement | 15 |
| Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent: | |
| And from her own pure self no joy dissembling, | |
| Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling. | |
| Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take, | |
| It is reflected, clearly, in a lake, | 20 |
| With the young ashen boughs, ’gainst which it rests, | |
| And th’ half seen mossiness of linnets’ nests. | |
| |
| Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty, | |
| When the fire flashes from a warrior’s eye, | |
| And his tremendous hand is grasping it, | 25 |
| And his dark brow for very wrath is knit? | |
| Or when his spirit, with more calm intent, | |
| Leaps to the honors of a tournament, | |
| And makes the gazers round about the ring | |
| Stare at the grandeur of the ballancing? | 30 |
| No, no! this is far off:—then how shall I | |
| Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy, | |
| Which linger yet about lone gothic arches, | |
| In dark green ivy, and among wild larches? | |
| How sing the splendour of the revelries, | 35 |
| When but[t]s of wine are drunk off to the lees? | |
| And that bright lance, against the fretted wall, | |
| Beneath the shade of stately banneral, | |
| Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield? | |
| Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. | 40 |
| Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces | |
| Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces; | |
| Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens: | |
| Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens. | |
| Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry: | 45 |
| Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by? | |
| Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight, | |
| Rein in the swelling of his ample might? | |
| |
| Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind, | |
| And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind; | 50 |
| And always does my heart with pleasure dance, | |
| When I think on thy noble countenance: | |
| Where never yet was ought more earthly seen | |
| Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green. | |
| Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully | 55 |
| Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh | |
| My daring steps: or if thy tender care, | |
| Thus startled unaware, | |
| Be jealous that the foot of other wight | |
| Should madly follow that bright path of light | 60 |
| Trac’d by thy lov’d Libertas; he will speak, | |
| And tell thee that my prayer is very meek; | |
| That I will follow with due reverence, | |
| And start with awe at mine own strange pretence. | |
| Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope | 65 |
| To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope: | |
| The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers; | |
| Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers. | |
| |
| See Notes. |
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