"Thou shalt not long for De Clifford mourn, Ere he to thy bosom of love return; When blind to the lure of the red-cross bright, He will bask, for life, in thy beauty's light!" The morn in the radiant east arose:-- The Red-cross Knight hath spurred his steed That courseth as swift as a falcon's speed:-- To the salt-sea shore Sir Raymond goes. Soon, the sea he hath crossed, to Palestine; And there his heart doth chafe and pine,-- For Hubert de Burgh is not in that land: He loitereth in France, with Philip's band. But De Clifford will never a recreant turn, While the knightly badge on his arm is borne; And long, beneath the Syrian sun, He fasted and fought, and glory won. His Gertrude, alas! like a widow pines; And though on her castle the bright sun shines, She sees not its beams,--but in loneliness prays, Through the live-long hours of her weeping days.-- Twelve moons have waned, and the morn is come When, a year before, from his meed-won home Sir Raymond went:--At the castle gate A reverend Palmer now doth wait. He saith he hath words for the ladye's ear; And he telleth, in accents dread and drear, Of De Clifford's death in the Holy Land, At Richard's side, by a Saracen's hand. And he gave to the ladye, when thus he had spoken,-- Of Sir Raymond's fall a deathly token: 'Twas a lock of his hair all stained with blood, Entwined on a splinter of Holy Rood.-- Then the Palmer in haste from the castle sped; And from gloomy morn to weary night, Lorn Gertrude, in her widowed plight, Weepeth and waileth the knightly dead.-- Three moons have waned, and the Palmer, again, By Gertrude stands, and smileth fain; Nor of haste, nor of death, speaks the Palmer, now; Nor doth sadness or sorrow bedim his brow. He softly sits by the ladye's side, And vaunteth his deeds of chivalrous pride; Then lisps, in her secret ear, of things Which deeply endanger the thrones of kings: From Philip of France, he saith, he came, To treat with Prince John, whom she must not name; And he, in fair France, hath goodly lands,-- And a thousand vassals there wait his commands.-- The ladye liked her gallant guest,-- For he kenned the themes that pleased her best; And his tongue, in silken measures skilled, With goodly ditties her memory filled. Thus the Palmer the ladye's ear beguiles,-- Till Gertrude her sorrow exchangeth for smiles; And when from the castle the Palmer went, She watched his return, from the battlement.-- Another moon doth swell and wane:-- But how slowly it waneth! How her heart now paineth For sight of the Palmer again! But the Palmer comes, and her healëd heart Derideth pain and sorrow: She pledgeth the Palmer, and smirketh smart, And saith, "we'll wed to-morrow!"--