Chapter V: Part II

Merrily through the town they went
A proud, chivalric cavalcade
Of knights and nobles and esquires,
In silken robes arrayed.

And each sustained his high degree,
But foremost there, without a peer
In manly majesty of mien,
Rode Lionel De Vere.

The ostrich plumes which flowed and waved
In silver clouds above his brow,
Were gray and lustreless beside
That forehead’s dazzling snow.

The diamond broach which held the plume
Flashed in the sunlight, like a star,
Throwing its ever radiant rays
In rainbow hues afar.

The ruby burning on his breast,
Blazing and blossoming as he turned,
Was fervid as his heart, which, fed
With honor, nobly burned.

And as he passed, his lofty head
Bending in answer to the cries
Of loving vassals, nobler form
Never met woman’s eyes.

A smile for one of mean degree,
A courteous bow for one of high,
So modulated both that each
Saw friendship in his eye.

Onward he rode, while like the sound
Of surf along a shingly shore,
The murmur of a people’s joy
Marched, herald-like, before.

Timidly, while before them pressed
The peasants, in a little nook
Two women stood—two timid things—
To snatch a hasty look:

One, weak and old—an agéd dame—
December toward its latter day;
The other young and pure and fair,
The maiden month of May:

Trembling with curious delight
She rose on tip-toe, gazing through
The mass of heads which, like a hedge,
Bordered the avenue.

The sound of horns, which rolled and broke
Like summer thunder, and the crash
Of cymbals, while the hound-like drum
Howled underneath the lash;

The toss of plumes, the neigh of steeds,
The silken murmur of attire,
As the proud cavalcade drew nigh,
Filled her young heart with fire.

He came, her lord, the lord of all
Who gazed and gazed afar or near,
And as he bowed they hailed with shouts
Lord Lionel De Vere.

A trouble flitted through her face—
A shadow, and before her eyes
She passed her hands, as if to check
Some terrible surmise.

Nearer and nearer, while like one
Struck dumb she gazed, the noble came,
And as he passed the people flung
Their blessings on his name.

One little cry—a feeble cry—
The name of “Clarence,” and she passed:
He heard it not, its tiny sound
Died in the clarion’s blast.