85 The Dying Crusader. WARRIOR on the battle field Was left at close of day, His lance was broke, his steed was dead, And bleeding there he lay.— No more upon the field was heard The trumpet's pealing sound, The fight was done, the battle won,— And silence breathed around. Dying he lay amongst the slain, No trusty comrade nigh, When lo!—the last upon the plain,— A horseman gallops by.— « Oh, stop, Sir Knight! for Jesus' sake! And if, perchance, you come, His various fortunes to partake, From Cœur de Lion's home, « I call upon you by St. George To shrive me, and to bear To my home, in merry England, The tale which you will hear.»> He came from merry England, The knight to whom he spake, And with Richard left his native land, His fortunes to partake; A scyon of a knightly race, In Devon dwelt his sire, His name was Arthur Champernown,— A noble of that shire. << I ne'er have seen your crest before In Coeur de Lion's train, We meet upon a foreign shore, And may not meet again :— <«< It grieves me, comrade! to the heart, A Briton thus to meet, And here upon the field to part, With little time to greet; « But say your bidding, tell your tale, And, by St. George, I swear To do your wish I will not fail, Nor slight your dying prayer.» « God bless you, gentle knight !» the poor, Expiring warrior said,— <«< My time on earth is nearly o'er, God bless you for your aid! << The helmet on my head, Sir Knight ! The armour which I bear, Are not a meet disguise, Sir Knight! For such as I to wear. I am a lady of your land, And, in this rough disguise, I came to join King Richard's band, « For deeply, fondly, gentle knight! I loved a youth whom ye, I trow, have often seen in fight, And oft borne company: |