  No captive knight, whom chains confine, Can tell his fate and not repine; Yet with a song he cheers the gloom That hangs around his living tomb. Shame to his friends!—the king remains Two years unransomed and in chains. Now let them know, my brave barons, My English, Normans, and Gascons, Not one liege-man so poor have I, That I would not his freedom buy. I'll not reproach their noble line, Though chains and dungeon still are mine. The dead,—nor friends nor kin have they! Nor friends nor kin my ransom pay! My wrongs afflict me—yet far more For faithless friends my heart is sore. Oh, what a blot upon their name, If I should perish thus in shame! Nor is it strange I suffer pain When sacred oaths are thus made vain, And when the king with bloody hands Spreads war and pillage through my lands. One only solace now remains— I soon shall burst these servile chains. Ye troubadours and friends of mine, Brave Chail and noble Pensauvine, Go tell my rivals, in your song, He infamy—not glory—gains, Who strikes a monarch in his chains! Written by Richard I. while prisoner in Germany. (From Spofford's Library of Historic Character and Famous Events.) |
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