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But Charlemain he sent them in anger away,
For she should not be buried, he said ;
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,
But bear her with speed to the tomb.
Now merriment, joyaunce, and feasting again
Enlivened the palace of Aix;
To hold a high festival day.
And anxiously now for the festival day
The highly-born Maidens prepare ;
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,
· 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 uswell 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.”