Ye have heard of the Castle of Miolan And how it hath stood since time began, Midway to yon mountain's brow, Guarding the beautiful valley below: Its crest the clouds, its ancient feet Where the Arc and the Isère murmuring meet Earth hath few lovelier scenes to show Than Miolan with its hundred halls, Its massive towers and bannered walls, Looming out through the vines and walnut woods That gladden its stately solitudes. And there might ye hear but yestermorn The loud halloo and the hunter's horn, The laugh of mailèd men at play. The drinking bout and the roundelay. But now all is sternest silence there. Save the bell that calls to vesper prayer; Save the ceaseless surge of a father's wail, And, hark! ye may hear the Baron's Tale. II. "Come hither. Hermit!--Yestermorn I had an only son, A gallant fair as e'er was born, A knight whose spurs were won In the red tide by Godfrey's side At Ascalon. {34} "But yestermorn he came to me For blessing on his lance, And death and danger seemed to flee The joyaunce of his glance, For he would ride to win his Bride, Christine of France. "All sparkling in the sun he stood In mail of Milan dressed, A scarf, the gift of her he wooed, Lay lightly o'er his breast. As, with a clang, to horse he sprang With nodding crest "Gaily he grasped the stirrup cup Afoam with spicy ale, But as he took the goblet up Methought his cheek grew pale. And a shudder ran through the iron man And through his mail. "Oft had I seen him breast the shock Of squire or crownèd king, His front was firm as rooted rock When spears were shivering: I knew no blow could shake him so From living thing. "'Twas something near akin to death That blanched and froze his cheek, Yet 'twas not death, for he had breath, And when I bade him speak, Unto his breast his hand he pressed With one wild shriek. "The hand thus clasped upon his heart So sharply curbed the rein, Grey Caliph, rearing with a start, Went bounding o'er the plain Away, away with echoing neigh And streaming mane. "After him sped the menial throng; I stirred not in my fear; Perchance I swooned, for it seemed not long Ere the race did reappear, And my son still led on his desert-bred. Grasping his spear. {35} "Unchanged in look or limb, he came. He and his barb so fleet, His hand still on his heart, the same Stem bearing in his seat, And wheeling round with sudden bound Stopped at my feet. "And soon as ceased that wildering tramp 'What ails thee, boy?' I cried-- Taking his hand all chill and damp-- 'What means this fearful ride? Alight, alight, for lips so white Would scare a Bride!' "But sternly to his steed clove he, And answer made he none, I clasped him by his barbèd knee And there I made my moan; While icily he stared at me, At me alone.