  To King Banalin’s court there came From divers lands beyond the sea A score of knights, with hearts aflame With love for lady Ursalie, Whose wondrous beauty and fair fame Were sung by Europe’s minstrelsy. Each lord in retinue did bring A noble and a princely band, Whose deeds the troubadours did sing Through length and breadth of Christian land, And each by turn besought the King The favour of his daughter’s hand. But spake the King to each brave lord, “When first the sun shall shine in May A tourney in the palace-yard We do appoint, and on that day Who holds his own with spear and sword Shall take our daughter fair away.” Whereat the Lady Ursalie Blanched as a lily of the vale, For many moons had waned since she First pledged her love to Sir Verale, And for that sick to death was he Her trembling lips turned ashen pale. The heavy scent of musk and myrrh Hung all about the inner room, Dim taper lights did faintly stir To life the arras through the gloom,— She bade her handmaid bring to her The treasure-box that held her doom. With lightest touch a secret spring Upraised the silver casket’s lid; She took therefrom a golden ring, A broken coin, a heart hair-thrid, And many a sweet and precious thing Wherein her plighted troth was hid. “Then welcome death, if death it prove,” She said and kissed with lips still pale Each sweet remembrance of his love;— “I will not fail thee, Sir Verale, Though from thy couch thou canst not move To don for me thy coat of mail.” Unto the chapel straight she went And knelt before the altar-stone; Her face within her hands she bent Praying with many a tear and moan Until the day was well-nigh spent, When came a beadsman she had known; “O! Father! join thy prayer with mine The life of Sir Verale to save; O! plead then at our Lady’s shrine For health to one so young and brave. For I will wed, with help divine, No other lord this side the grave.” The holy friar knelt him there And crossed him, and began to tell His beads, each counted for a prayer, Until the sound of vesper-bell Stole through the darkling twilight air And warned them of the day’s farewell. Each day at morn and noon and night Her trusted handmaid she did send To learn if her belovÈd knight In life’s estate was like to mend, And on the eve of April’s flight This message came her heart to rend. “Tell thou my lady fair,” he said, To her who bore the answer back, “To-morrow will I leave this bed And wear my suit of armour black; To-morrow will I win and wed Or lose both love and life, alack.” The Lady Ursalie knew well He could not rise, so ill he was, And shuddered as her maid did tell His dying state, then forth did pass Unto the chapel, as the bell Proclaimed the holy evening mass. The morrow broke with golden rush And chased the gloom of night away; The pipe of blackbird, song of thrush, Rose with the skylark’s roundelay, The wild flowers started with a blush To meet the first bright morn of May. The palace-yard was all prepared; Bright-hued pavilions stood around, The banners waved, the armour glared, The eager steeds tore up the ground, And twenty princes who had dared The tourney in the lists were found. The King and Queen on daÏsed throne Received each knight on bended knee; But like an image carved in stone Sat lovely Lady Ursalie And none who saw her would have known For her the tourney was to be. But one there knelt in sable mail Of whom the King in accents rude, Did ask his name, and why this bale Of armour black, he did intrude; He answered: “I am Sir Verale, Long months thy daughter have I wooed. And by this sable suit I wear, This sterling blade of Spanish steel, This iron shield and trusty spear,— But chiefly by the love I feel, I ask to wife thy daughter fair And that, proud King, is why I kneel.” When Lady Ursalie that voice Did hear, her heart beat high with fears, Her troubled soul did half rejoice And memory filled her eyes with tears; But as she smiled upon her choice There fell a clash of shields and spears. Knight after knight was overthrown, Some ready for the bier and shroud, At last the black knight stood alone— And in the air applause rang loud As proudly strode he to the throne Pursued by all the noble crowd. Then cried the King: “Right nobly won, Most puissant, worthy Sir Verale, I would the words were well undone That erst in anger I did rail.” < |
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