" "Leave my
ancestors
in peace!
World's Greatest Books - Volume 17 - Poetry and Drama
Empty panoplies
They were, in which the lords of old Lusace
Had lived and fought and died, since the red days
When Attila, from whom their race was sprung,
Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies
Of the great war-horses they loved and rode,
Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes
Gaped in their visors, black and terrible.
Seizing the leader of this spectral host,
Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down,
And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse.
And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance
Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed
Into an iron statue, like the rest,
As through the open window came the sound
Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song
Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear:
Come, and let us dream a dream!
Mount with me, and ride away,
By the winding moonlight stream,
Through the shining gates of day!
Come, the stars are bright above!
All the world is in our scope.
We have horses--joy and love!
We have riches--youth and hope!
Mount with me, and ride away,
Through the greenness and the dew;
Through the shining gates of day,
To the land where dreams come true!
"Look! " cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall
With the two minstrels. "It is terrible!
Sooner would I have lost my crown than come
Alone at midnight to this dreadful place. "
"Does this old iron," said the troubadour,
Striking the armour of Eviradnus,
"Frighten you?
" "Leave my ancestors in peace! "
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them. " The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends. "
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night. "
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content? "
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet. "
"Revenge is sweeter! " cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me! ' Those were her words.
They were, in which the lords of old Lusace
Had lived and fought and died, since the red days
When Attila, from whom their race was sprung,
Swept over Europe. Now, on effigies
Of the great war-horses they loved and rode,
Their armoured image sat; and eyeless holes
Gaped in their visors, black and terrible.
Seizing the leader of this spectral host,
Eviradnus dragged his clanging body down,
And hid it; and then leaped upon the horse.
And with closed visor, motionless mail and lance
Clenched in his gauntlet, he appeared transformed
Into an iron statue, like the rest,
As through the open window came the sound
Of lute-playing and laughter, and a song
Sung by the troubadour, rang righ and clear:
Come, and let us dream a dream!
Mount with me, and ride away,
By the winding moonlight stream,
Through the shining gates of day!
Come, the stars are bright above!
All the world is in our scope.
We have horses--joy and love!
We have riches--youth and hope!
Mount with me, and ride away,
Through the greenness and the dew;
Through the shining gates of day,
To the land where dreams come true!
"Look! " cried Mahaud, as she came in the hall
With the two minstrels. "It is terrible!
Sooner would I have lost my crown than come
Alone at midnight to this dreadful place. "
"Does this old iron," said the troubadour,
Striking the armour of Eviradnus,
"Frighten you?
" "Leave my ancestors in peace! "
Exclaimed Mahaud. "A little man like you
Must not lay hands on them. " The troubadour
Grew pale with anger, but the tall lute-player
Laughed, and his blue eyes flamed upon Mahaud.
"Now I must sleep," she said, "the priest's strange wine
Begins to make me drowsy. Stay with me!
Stay and watch over me all night, my friends. "
"Far have we travelled," said the troubadour,
"In hopes to be alone with you to-night. "
And his dark face lightened with a grim smile,
When, as he spoke, Mahaud fell fast asleep.
"I'll take the girl," he cried to the lute-player,
"And you can have the land! Are you content? "
"Yes," said the lute-player, "but love is sweet. "
"Revenge is sweeter! " cried the troubadour.
"'A little man like me! ' Those were her words.
