Requiem Second, XXXV

A knight comes on a lofty steed, With spear reversed and helmless head, A branch of olive in his hand. The bishop bids the mourners stand, When lighting by St Baldred’s side, “A boon! a boon!” the warrior cried, Craving to see the illustrious dead, As if affiance he might trace In the old man’s pale ghastly face; Then roll’d his eyes from earth to heav’n, Swore, as he hoped to be forgiven, That, lately, on the Flemish shore, He met the saint in Antwerp’s choir, What time the vesper prayers were said:— “Nay, father! do not doubt my word, “I do not deal in gasconade, “But wear a still untainted sword, “That ever is unsheathed for God, “Aye ready at the church’s nod; “Behold my doublet’s lightsome sheen, “It once was dervise-pennon green, “Hard won in Canaan’s holy land, “When combating the Jews accurst; “To mount the breach with sword or brand “St Baldred knew I was the first! “And thrice he blest me where I stood, “And thrice he sign’d the holy rood; “Then press’d my hand—it felt like flame— “Behold! it left his hallow’d name! “And now I come this boon to crave, “That I may lower him in the grave, “That some last relic you’ll bestow, “’Twill bear me foremost ‘midst the brave, “’Twill raise me when my arm is low!” The bishop waved his hand on high, And gave propitious reply— “Gentle knight, thy claim is won; “Priests and mourners! onward, on!”