"In Heaven's soil abiding, These buds shall brighter blow, And tell us pleasant tiding Of those that live below. "How know'st thou this, bright Power?" Then splendidly he smiled: I was that sickly child!" TRANS. BY MR. E. ARNOLD. CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. 259 CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. TORCHES were blazing clear, * Where a king lay stately on his bier Banners of battle o'er him hung, And light, as noon's broad light, was flung On the settled face of death A strong and ruddy glare ; Though dimmed at times by the censer's breath, Yet it still fell brightest there: As if each deeply furrowed trace The marble floor was swept By many a long, dark stole, As the kneeling priests round him that slept With the cross above, and the crown and sword, 260 CŒUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. There was heard a heavy clang And the tombs, and the hollow pavement rang And the holy chant was hushed awhile, A gleam of arms, up the sweeping aisle, He came with haughty look, An eagle glance and clear, But his proud heart through his breastplate shook, He stood there still with drooping brow, For his father lay before him low; - And silently he strove With the workings in his breast; And his tears broke forth, at last, like rain; For his face was seen by his warrior-train, He looked upon the dead, COEUR DE LION AT THE BIER OF HIS FATHER. A weight of sorrow even like lead, Pale on the fast-shut eye. He stooped, and kissed the frozen cheek, Till bursting words, yet all too weak, "O father! is it vain, This late remorse and deep? Speak to me, father, once again : I weep, behold, I weep! Alas! my guilty pride and ire! Were but this work undone, I would give England's crown, my sire, 66 Speak to me! mighty grief, Ere now the dust hath stirred! Hear me but hear me, father, chief! Hushed, hushed;-how is it that I call, When was it thus ? woe, woe for all The love my soul forgot! "Thy silver hairs I see, So still, so sadly bright! I bore thee down, high heart! at last, 261 262 THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM. O, for one moment of the past "Thou wert the noblest king And thou didst wear, in knightly ring, And thou didst prove, where spears are proved "Thou, that my boyhood's guide The times I've sported by thy side, How will that still, sad face of thine Look on me till I die! MRS. HEMANS. THE OLD FOLKS' ROOM. THE old man sat by the chimney-side - And he leaned both hands on his stout oak cane, |