Volume 3 — PRELUDE.
Reading edition
The Queen hath built her a fairy Bower In the shadow of the Accursed Tower, For the Moslem hath left his blood-stained lair, And the banner of England waveth there. Thither she lureth the Lion King To hear a wandering Trovère sing; For well she knew the Joyous Art Was surest path to Richard's heart. But the Monarch's glance was on the sea-- Sooth, he was scarce in minstrel mood, For Philip's triremes homeward stood With all the Gallic chivalry. And as he watched the filmy sail Upon the furthest billow fail, He muttered, "Richard ill can spare Thee and thy Templars, false and fair; Yet God hath willed it--home to thee, Death or Jerusalem for me!" Then pressing with a knightly kiss The peerless hand that slept in his, "Ah, would our own Blondel were here To try a measure I wove last e'en. What songster hast thou caught, my Queen, Whose harp may soothe a Monarch's ear?" She beckoned, and the Trovère bowed To many a Lord and Ladye fair That gathered round the royal pair; But most his simple song was vowed To a sweet shape with dark brown hair, Half hidden in the gentle crowd; Pale as a spirit, sharply slender. In maiden beauty's crescent splendor. And never yet bent Minstrel knee To Mistress lovelier than she.
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