A tale.
Before his lion-court,
Impatient for the sport,
King Francis sat one day;
The peers of his realm sat around,
And in balcony high from the ground
Sat the ladies in beauteous
array.
And when with his finger he beckoned,
The gate opened wide in a second,-
And in, with deliberate tread,
Enters a lion dread,
And looks around
Yet utters no sound;
Then long he yawns
And shakes his mane,
And, stretching each limb,
Down lies he again.
Again signs the king,-
The next gate open flies,
And, lo! with a wild spring,
A tiger out hies.
When the lion he sees, loudly roars
he about,
And a terrible circle his tail traces
out.
Protruding his tongue, past the
lion he walks,
And, snarling with rage, round him
warily stalks:
Then, growling anew,
On one side lies down too.
Again signs the king,-
And two gates open fly,
And, lo! with one spring,
Two leopards out hie.
On the tiger they rush, for the
fight nothing loth,
But he with his paws seizes hold
of them both.
And the lion, with roaring, gets
up,-then alls still;
The fierce beasts stalk around,
madly thirsting to kill.
From the balcony raised high above
A fair hand lets fall down a glove
Into the lists, where tis
seen
The lion and tiger between.
To the knight, Sir Delorges, in
tone of jest,
Then speaks young Cunigund
fair;
Sir Knight, if the love that
thou feelst in thy breast
Is as warm as thourt
wont at each moment to swear,
Pick up, I pray thee, the
glove that lies there!
And the knight, in a moment, with
dauntless tread,
Jumps into the lists, nor
seeks to linger,
And, from out the midst of those
monsters dread,
Picks up the glove with a
daring finger.
And the knights and ladies of high
degree
With wonder and horror the action
see,
While he quietly brings in his hand
the glove,
The praise of his courage
each mouth employs;
Meanwhile, with a tender look of
love,
The promise to him of coming
joys,
Fair Cunigund welcomes him back
to his place.
But he threw the glove point-blank
in her face:
Lady, no thanks from thee
Ill receive!
And that selfsame hour he took his
leave.
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