"Thus often has her bosom bled; Thus have I seen her fainting led From feasts intended to dispel The woeful thoughts she nurs'd so well. And must she, by the king's command, To Eustace plight that fever'd hand? Proud, loyal as he is, can he, A victim to the same decree, Receive it, while regretting me? For that poor, withering heart, resign The warm, devoted faith of mine! "Have I, too, an allotted task? What from the Minstrel do they ask? A nimble finger o'er the chords, A tongue replete with gracious words! Alas! the tribute they require, Truth, sudden impulse, should inspire; And from the senseless, subject lyre, Such fine and mellow music flow, The skill that forms it should not know Whence the delicious tones proceed; But, lost in rapture's grateful glow, Doubt its own power, and cry, 'Indeed, Some passing angel sweeps the strings, Wafting from his balsamic wings The sweetest breath of Eden bowers, Tones nurs'd and hovering there in flowers, Have left their haunts to wander free, Linger, alight, and dwell on thee!' "In Osvalde's porch, where, full in bloom, The jasmine spread its rich perfume; And, in thick clustering masses, strove To hide the arch of stone above; While many a long and drooping spray Wav'd up, and lash'd the air in play; Was I ordain'd my harp to place, The pair with bridal strains to grace. "The royal will,--and what beside? O! what I since have lost,--my pride, Forbade the wonted song to fail: I met him with a cheerful hail. I taught my looks, my lips, to feign I bade my hand its task sustain; And when he came to seek the bride, Her rival thus, unfaltering, cried:-- "'Approach! approach, thou gallant knight! England's first champion in the fight, Of grace and courtesy the flower, Approach the high-born Osvalde's bower! And forth let manly valour bring Youth's timid meekness, beauty's spring! "'Thou darling of a vassal host, Thy parents' stay, thy kinsman's boast; Thou favourite in a monarch's eyes, Whose gracious hand awards the prize; Thee does the brightest lot betide, The best domain, the fairest bride!' "Mine sunk beneath the mournful look Which glanc'd disdainful as I spoke; And, when his step past hurrying by, And when I heard his struggling sigh, A moment on my quailing tongue The speech constrain'd of welcome hung; But in the harp's continuous sound My wandering thoughts I quickly found. "'Haste on! and here thy duteous train In rapt expectance shall remain; Till, with thee, brilliant as a gem Set in a kingdom's diadem, Thy lovely mistress shall appear! O! hasten! we await thee here!'