Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1838/The Tournament

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Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1838 (1837)
by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
The Tournament
2389778Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1838 — The Tournament1837Letitia Elizabeth Landon

16



The Rescue of Ivanhoe.Le Délivrance d’Ivanhoe.

Artist: T. Allom - Engraved by: R. Staines




THE TOURNAMENT.


His spur on his heel, his spear in its rest.
The wild wind just waving the plumes on his crest;
The young knight rides forward—his armour is bright
As that which it mirrors, the morning’s clear light.

His steed it is black as the raven that flies
’Mid the tempest that darkens its way through the skies;
From his nostril the white foam is scattered around;
He knoweth the battle and spurneth the ground.

His master is young—but familiar his hand
Has been from its childhood with axe and with brand.
His gold locks have darkened with blood and with toil,
Where the battle of Ascalon darkened the soil

He is calm, though a youth, save when his blue eye
Sees afar the red banners that sweep through the sky;
It kindles—there waiteth the triumph again—
He poises his lance, and he tightens his rein.

The belt of a knight was in Palestine won;
By the hand of King Richard the belt was bound on.
On his shoulder the cross, by his helmet a glove,
Tell he serveth his God, and his King, and his Love,

On his lip is a song whose last murmur was heard
When the castle’s old ivy the summer wind stirred;
Low and love-touched the words, that are never so dear
As when battle and danger and triumph are near.

He flings the bright marks from his scarf’s silken fold—
What careth the warrior for silver or gold?
And he bends till his plumes touch his horse’s dark mane,
To the minstrel who mingles one name with his strain.

So loyal of heart, and so liberal of hand,
Were the gallant—the high-born—of England’s fair land.
But their glory is gathered—their honours are told—
Let the race of to-day match the good knights of old.


There was amongst the ranks a champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large, tall, powerful, and strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight bore no device upon his shield, evinced little interest in the event of the day, beat off, with ease, those who attacked him, but neither pursued his advantage, nor assisted any one. This conduct procured him the title of the "Black Sluggard." Suddenly the sluggard, perceiving the leader of his party hard bestead, threw aside his apathy, and rushed like a thunder-bolt to his assistance, exclaiming "Desdichado! to the rescue!" The sable knight dealt such a stroke to one, as brought both horse and rider to the ground; then wrenching the battle-axe from the hand of a second, bestowed on him a stunning blow, that laid him senseless on the field. — (Vide Rescue of Ivanhoe, Waverley Novels.)