But Charlemain he sent them in anger away,
For she should not be buried, he said;
And despite of all counsel, for many a day,
Where array'd in her costly apparel she lay,
The Monarch would sit by the dead.

The cares of the kingdom demand him in vain,
And the army cry out for their Lord;
The Lombards, the fierce misbelievers of Spain,
Now ravage the realms of the proud Charlemain,
And still he unsheathes not the sword.

The Soldiers they clamour, the Monks bend in prayer

In the quiet retreats of the cell;

The Physicians to counsel together repair,

They pause and they ponder, at last they declare That his senses are bound by a spell.

With relics protected, and confident grown,

And telling devoutly his beads,

The Archbishop prepares him, and when it was known,

That the King for awhile left the body alone,
To look for the spell he proceeds.

Now careful he searches with tremulous haste
For the spell that bewitches the King;
And under the tongue for security placed,
Its margin with mystical characters traced,
At length he discovers a ring.

Rejoicing he seized it and hastened away,
The Monarch re-entered the room,

The enchantment was ended, and suddenly gay
He bade the attendants no longer delay,

But bear her with speed to the tomb.

Now merriment, joyaunce, and feasting again

Enlivened the palace of Aix;

And now by his heralds did King Charlemain
Invite to his palace the courtier train
To hold a high festival day.

And anxiously now for the festival day
The highly-born Maidens prepare ;
And now, all apparell'd in costly array,
Exulting they come to the palace of Aix,
Young and aged, the brave and the fair.

Oh! happy the Damsel who 'mid her compeers
For a moment engaged the King's eye!

Now glowing with hopes and now fever'd with fears,
Each maid or triumphant, or jealous, appears,

As noticed by him, or past by.

And now as the evening approach'd, to the ball
In anxious suspense they advance,

Each hoped the King's choice on her beauties might

fall,

When lo! to the utter confusion of all,

He ask'd the Archbishop to dance.

The damsels they laugh and the barons they stare, "Twas mirth and astonishment all;

And the Archbishop started and mutter'd a prayer, And, wroth at receiving such mockery there, Withdrew him in haste from the hall.

The moon dimpled over the water with light

As he wander'd along the lake side;

When lo! where beside him the King met his sight; "Oh turn thee, Archbishop, my joy and delight,

"Oh turn thee, my charmer," he cried;

"Oh come where the feast and the dance and the

song

"Invite thee to mirth and to love;

"Or at this happy moment away from the throng "To the shade of yon wood let us hasten along,.. "The moon never pierces that grove."

Amazement and anger the Prelate possest,
With terror his accents he heard,.

Then Charlemain warmly and eagerly prest
The Archbishop's old wither'd hand to his breast,
And kiss'd his old grey grizzle beard.

"Let us well then these fortunate moments employ!" Cried the Monarch with passionate tone:

"Come away then, dear charmer,.. my angel,.. my

joy,

"Nay struggle not now,.. 'tis in vain to be coy,.. "And remember that we are alone."