# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Keepsake, 1832/An Early Passage in Sir John Perrot's Life

AN EARLY PASSAGE IN SIR JOHN PERROT'S LIFE.
BY L. E. L.
There is a very curious and rare biography extant of this accomplished knight and courtier, and it was placed in my hands by Mr. Crofton Croker, who thought that I should find a variety of subjects for poetical illustration in Sir John Perrot's adventurous and romantic career. The present incident he especially marked as very characteristic of the picturesque tone of the age. To Mr. Croker I beg to inscribe the ballad, and trust the rest of its readers will partake in his sympathy for the memories of our ancestors.
The evening tide is on the turn; so calm the waters flow,
There seems to be one heav'n above, another heav'n below; The blue skies broken by white clouds, the river by white foam,
The stars reflect themselves, and seem to have another home.
A shade upon the elements, 'tis of a gallant bark,
Her stately sides fling on the wave an outline dim and dark;
The difference this by things of earth, and things of heav'n made,
The things of heav'n are traced in light, and those of earth in shade.
Wrapt in his cloak a noble knight stept to and fro that deck,
Revolving all those gentler thoughts the busier day-hours check.
A thousand sad sweet influences in truth and beauty lie,
Within the quiet atmosphere of a lone starry sky.
A shower of glittering sparkles fell from off the dashing oar,
As a little boat shot rapidly from an old oak on shore:
His eye and pulse grew quick, the knight's, his heart kept no true time
In its unsteady beating, with the light oars' measured chime.
"Thou hast loiter'd—so, in sooth, should I—thine errand be thy plea;
And now what of my lady bright, what guerdon sent she me?
Or sat she lonely in her bower, or lovely in the hall?
How look'd she when she took my gift? sir page, now tell me all."—
"I found her with a pallid cheek, and with a drooping head,
I left her, and the summer rose wears not a gladder red;
And she murmur'd something like the tones a lute has in its chords,
So very sweet the whisper was, I have forgot the words."
"A health to thee, my lady love, a health in Spanish wine,
To-night I'll pledge no other health, I'll name no name but thine."
The young page hid his laugh, then dropp'd in reverence on his knee:—
"In sooth, good master, that I think to-night may scarcely be."
"While kneeling at your lady's feet another dame past by,
The lion in her haughty step, the eagle in her eye.
‘And doth the good knight barter gems? God's truth, we'll do the same.'
A pleasant meaning lit the smile, that to her proud eyes came.
"She took the fairest of the gems upon her glittering hand,
With her own fingers fasten'd it upon a silken band,
And held it to the lamp, then said, 'Like this stone's spotless flame,
So tell your master that I hold his high and knightly fame.' "
Low on his bended knee, the knight received that precious stone,
And bold and proud the spirit now that in his dark eyes shone:
"Up from your sleep, my mariners, for ere the break of day,
And even now the stars are pale, I must be miles away."—
The spray fell from the oars in showers, as in some fairy hall
They say in melting diamonds the charmed fountains fall;
And though as set the weary stars, the darker grew the night,
Yet far behind the vessel left a track of silver light.
They saw again that self-same shore which they that morn had pass'd,
On which they'd look'd as those who know such look may be the last:—
Then out he spoke, the helmsman old: "I marvel we should go
Just like a lady's messenger on the same path to and fro."—
"And 'tis to see a lady's face this homeward task we ply,
I wot the proudest of us all were proud to catch her eye.
A royal gift our queen hath sent, and it were sore disgrace
If that I first put on her gem and not before her face."—
On the terrace by the river side there stood a gallant band,
The very flower of knight and dame were there of English land.
The morning wind toss'd ostrich plume, and stirr'd the silken train,
The morning light from gold and gem was mirror'd back again.
There walk'd the queen Elizabeth, you knew her from the rest
More by the royal step and eye than by the royal vest;
There flash'd, though now the step was staid, the falcon eye was still,
The fiery blood of Lancaster, the haughty Tudor's will.
A lady by the balustrade, a little way apart,
Lean'd languidly indulging in that solitude of heart
Which is Love's empire, tenanted by visions of his own—
Such solitude is soon disturb'd, such visions soon are flown:
Love's pleasant time is with her now, for she hath hope and faith,
Which think not what the lover doth, but what the lover saith;
Upon her hand there is a ring, within her heart a vow:—
No voice is whispering at her side—what doth she blush for now?
A noble galley valiantly comes on before the wind,
Her sails are dyed by the red sky she's leaving fast behind;
None other mark'd the ship that swept so eagerly along;
The lady knew the flag, and when hath lover's eye been wrong?
The lonely lady watch'd, meantime went on the converse gay,
It was as if the spirits caught the freshness of the day:
"Good omen such a morn as this," her grace of England said:
"What progress down our noble Thames hath Sir John Perrot made?"
Then spoke Sir Walter Raleigh, with a soft and silv'ry smile,
And an earnest gaze that seem'd to catch the queen's least look the while:
"Methinks that every wind in heav'n will crowd his sails to fill,
For goeth he not forth to do his gracious sovereign's will?"—
With that the bark came bounding up, then staid her in her flight,
And right beneath the terrace she moor'd her in their sight.
"Now, by my troth," exclaim'd the queen, "it is our captain's bark:
What brings the loiterer back again?"— her eye and brow grew dark.
"Fair queen," replied a voice below, "I pay a vow of mine,
And never yet was voyage delay'd by worship at a shrine."—
He took the jewel in his hand, and bent him on his knee,
Then flung the scarf around his neck where all the gem might see.
His white plumes swept the very deck, yet once he glanced above,
The courtesy was for the queen, the glance was for his love.
"Now, fare thee well," then said the queen, "for thou art a true knight;"—
But even as she spoke the ship was flitting from the sight.
Wo to the Spaniards and their gold amid the Indian seas,
When roll'd the thunder of that deck upon the southern breeze;
For bravely Sir John Perrot bore our flag across the main,
And England's bells for victory rang when he came home again.