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SIR LANCELOT'S BRIDE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Soft blows the breeze, the sun shines bright
Last Line: Send forth a gladsome lay.
Subject(s): Lancelot Du Lac


SOFT blows the breeze, the sun shines bright,
The birds sing loud and gay;
But from the castle on the height
Sounds forth a blither lay.

The hall is decked with flowerets fair,
The gates are opened wide,
To welcome home that youthful pair,
Sir Lancelot and his bride.

The lingering hours pass slowly by,
The blossoms droop and fade;
And many a bright impatient eye
Looks down the rocky glade.

"Look forth, my son, adown the height,"
Outspeaks a harper old;
"Methought I saw a helmet bright
Flash back the sunset's gold.

"Sir Lancelot's band draw nigh, my sire,
Their hundred helmets gleam,
And like a line of living fire
They ford the shallow stream.

"Hurrah! hurrah! they come, they come!
But why so slow and sad?
Why march they not to beat of drum,
With shouts and laughter glad?

"Oh, sweet and sad their music streams,
In cadence low and long;
More like a funeral dirge it seems
Than a gay bridal song."

"Look forth again," the old man said,
"Thy sight is strong and clear;
What bear they on that narrow bed,
That looks so like a bier?"

"I see the gleam of golden hair,
As slowly on they ride:
For weird in beauty, strangely fair,
They bring Sir Lancelot's bride.

"They bear her through the rocky dale;
Methinks they sigh and weep:
My lady's cheek is deadly pale --
Oh, say, can that be sleep?

"She lies in all her loveliness,
A fair yet awful sight;
And that is not her bridal dress,
That gleams so ghastly white.

"The light falls on her lily cheek,
And on her golden head --
Oh, hush, or but in whispers speak:
Say not -- that she is dead!

"Alas, alas! in deep despair
Sir Lancelot's head is bowed:
He hides his face; he cannot bear
To see the snow-white shroud."

Within the hall the flowerets fair
Ere now have drooped and died;
Fit welcome to that mournful pair,
Sir Lancelot and his bride.

The morn shall come with brighter flowers,
The lark shall warble gay;
But never more shall Lancelot's towers
Send forth a gladsome lay.






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