Volume Iii Part 110 (1/2)

The face of the lady-mother, Writhed as with sudden pain: ”Oh! sing not, my son, so sadly, Choose thou a happier strain.”

Sang the youth, ”When the summer suns.h.i.+ne Falls o'er the lake and lea, And the corn is springing upward, Then you'll remember me.”

The matron smiled on the singer: ”My dear and my only one When I shall not remember, The light will forget the sun.”

Yet her eyes smiled not, but were standing, Brimful of glimmering tears, Tell-tales of secret anguish, Dead hopes and living fears.

For he was the heir, and the only Child of the house of La Barre; A name that was known for its sorrows, By all, both near and far.

Lay in a charming valley Its rich and fair domain; But a curse seemed to hang around it, Worse than the curse of Cain.

For this was a holy convent Of monks in olden time; From G.o.d men had dared to wrest it, Nor recked the awful crime.

The mild men of G.o.d were driven Houseless and homeless afar: And he who rifled their cloister, Became the Lord of La Barre.

But a curse came down on his household, That time did not abate: And ne'er did the mourning hatchment Pa.s.s from the castle gate

The Lord of La Barre fell suddenly Dead in his banquet-hall; And madness seized his first-born, Bearing the funeral pall.

Calamity sudden and fearful.

Haunted the sacred place.

Striking the lords and their children, And blighting their hapless race.

One is thrown from his saddle, Das.h.i.+ng his brains on the ground; One in his bridal chamber.

Dead by his bride is found;

One is caught by the mill-wheel.

And cruelly torn in twain; One is lost in the forest, Ne'er to return again.

Death-traps for wolves, the herdsmen Set in the woods with care; The wolves devour the master, Caught in the fatal snare.

Killed by the forked lightnings; Drowned in the flowing Loire; Crushed by some falling timbers; Conquered and slain in war.

Idiots and still-born children, Come as the first-born heirs.

Those are seized with madness, Whom death a few years spares.

Thus did they all inherit A curse with the rich domain, Who dared on the holy convent To lay their hands profane.

The autumn winds are blowing Across the lake and lea, As the youth of twenty summers Sings at his mother's knee.

He ceased, and from him casting His lute upon the floor, Listened, as sounds from the court-yard Came through the open door.

Hearing the dogs' loud barking, As their keeper his bugle wound; ”To-day I go a hunting,”

Said he, ”with hawk and hound.”

The rustling of dead leaves only Heard the Lady of La Barre, And thought of her lordly husband Drowned in the flowing Loire.