'I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine, Nor bring reliques from over the sea;

I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope,
Which forever will cling to me.'

'Now, woful pilgrim, say not so!

But kneel thee down to me,

And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin
That absolved thou mayst be.'

'And who art thou, thou Grey Brother,

That I should shrive to thee,

When He to whom are given the keys of earth and

heaven

Has no power to pardon me?'

'O, I am sent from a distant clime,
Five thousand miles away,

And all to absolve a foul, foul crime,
Done here 'twixt night and day.'

The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand,
And thus began his saye -

When on his neck an ice-cold hand

Did that Grey Brother laye.

THE FIRE-KING 1

The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him.

-Eastern Tale.

BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,

Of love and of war and of wonder to hear;

And you haply may sigh in the midst of your glee

At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.

O, see you that castle, so strong and so high?
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye?
And see you that palmer from Palestine's land,
The shell on his hat and the staff in his hand?

'Now, palmer, grey palmer, O, tell unto me, What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie? And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand?

And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?'

'O, well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave,

For Gilead and Nablous and Ramah we have;

And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon,

For the heathen have lost and the Christians have won.'

A fair chain of gold mid her ringlets there hung;

O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she flung:

1 See Note 15.

'O palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee

For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie.

'And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave,

O, saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave?

When the Crescent went back and the Red-cross rushed

on,

O, saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon?'

'O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows;

O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows;

Your castle stands strong and your hopes soar on high, But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die.

'The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls,
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched walls:
The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone;
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon.'

O, she's ta'en a horse should be fleet at her speed;
And she's ta'en a sword should be sharp at her need;
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land,
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand.

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie,
Small thought on his faith or his knighthood had he:
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won,
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon.

'O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be,
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee:
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take;
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake.

'And next, in the cavern where burns evermore
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore,
Alone and in silence three nights shalt thou wake;
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake.

'And last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand,
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land;
For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll take,
When all this is accomplished for Zulema's sake.'

He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled sword,
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord;
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on,
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon.

And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground,
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround,
He has watched until daybreak, but sight saw he none,
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone.

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed,
Sore murmured the priests as on Albert they gazed;

They searched all his garments, and under his weeds They found and took from him his rosary beads.

Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground,

He watched the lone night, while the winds whistled round;

Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh,
The flame burned unmoved and naught else did he spy.

Loud murmured the priests and amazed was the king, While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing; They searched Albert's body, and, lo! on his breast Was the sign of the Cross by his father impressed.

The priests they erase it with care and with pain,
And the recreant returned to the cavern again;
But as he descended a whisper there fell:

It was his good angel, who bade him farewell!

High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered and beat, And he turned him five steps, half resolved to retreat; But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was gone, When he thought of the maiden of fair Lebanon.

Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce trode When the winds from the four points of heaven were

abroad,