# The Troubadour; Catalogue of Pictures, and Historical Sketches/Called to Arms

The song ceased, yet not with its tone Is the minstrel's vision wholly flown; But there he stood as if he had sent His spirit to rove on the element.
But Eva broke on his trance, and the while Play'd o'er her lip a sigh and a smile;— "Now turn thee from that evening sky, And the dreaming thoughts that are passing by, And give me those buds, thou hast pluck'd away The leaves of the rose round which they lay; Yet still the boon thrice fair will be, And give them for my tidings to me. A herald waits in the court to claim Aid in the Lady of Clarin's name; And well you know the fair Clotilde
Will have her utmost prayer fulfill'd. Go to the hall at once, and ask That thine may be the glorious task To spread the banner to the day And lead the vassals to the fray."—
He rush'd to the crowded hall, and there He heard the herald's words declare The inroad on her lands, the wrong The lonely Countess suffer'd long, And now Sir Herbert's arm'd array Before her very castle lay; But surely there was many a knight Whose sword would strike for lady's right; And surely many a lover's hand In such a cause would draw the brand.
 And rush'd the blood, and flash'd the light To Raymond's cheek, from Raymond's eye,  When he stood forth and claim'd the fight, And spoke of death and victory,
Those words that thrill the heart when first Forth the young warrior's soul has burst. And smiled the castle lord to see His ward's impetuous energy.
 "Well! get thy sword, the dawning day Shall see thee lead my best array; Suits it young warrior well to fight For lady's cause and lady's right? 'Tis just a field for knight to win His maiden spurs and honours in."
 And Raymond felt as if a gush Of thousand waters in one rush Were on his heart, as if the dreams Of what, alas! life only seems,
Wild thoughts and noontide revelries, Were turn'd into realities. Impatient, restless, first his steed Was hurried to its utmost speed: And next his falchion's edge was tried, Then waved the helmet's plume of pride, Then wandering through the courts and hall, He paused in none yet pass'd through all.
 But there was one whose gentle heart Could ill take its accustom'd part In Raymond's feelings, one who deem'd That almost unkind Raymond seem'd:— If thus the very name of war,  Could fill so utterly each thought,
How durst she hope, that when afar  Eva would be to memory brought. Oh, she had yet the task to learn How often woman's heart must turn To feed upon its own excess Of deep yet passionate tenderness! How much of grief the heart must prove That yields a sanctuary to love!
 And ever since the crimson day Had faded into twilight grey, She had been in the gallery, where Hung, pictured, knight and lady fair, Where haughty brow, and lovely face, Show'd youth and maiden of her race.
With both it was a favourite spot, And names and histories which had not A record save in the dim light Tradition throws on memory's night To them were treasures; they could tell What from the first crusade befell.
 There could not be a solitude More fitted for a pensive mood Than this old gallery,—the light Of the full moon came coldly bright— A silvery stream, save where a stain Fell from the pictured window pane,— A ruby flush, a purple dye, Like the last sun-streak on the sky, And lighted lip, and cheek of bloom Almost in mockery of the tomb.
How sad, how strange to think the shade, The copy faint of beauty made, Should be the only wreck that death Shall leave of so much bloom and breath. The cheek, long since the earth-worm's prey, Beside the lovely of to-day Here smiles as bright, as fresh, as fair, As if of the same hour it were.
 There pass'd a step along the hall, And Eva started as if all Her treasures, secret until now, Burnt in the blush upon her brow. There was a something in their meeting, A conscious trembling in her greeting, As coldness from his eye might hide The struggle of her love and pride;
Then fears of all too much revealing Vanish'd with a reproachful feeling.
 What, coldness! when another day And Raymond would be far away, When that to-morrow's rising sun Might be the last he look'd upon!
 "Come, Eva, dear! by the moonlight We'll visit all our haunts to night. I could not lay me down to rest, For, like the feathers in my crest, My thoughts are waving to and fro. Come, Eva, dear! I could not go Without a pilgrimage to all Of garden, nook, and waterfall,—
Where, amid birds, and leaves, and flowers, And gales that cool'd the sunny hours, With legend old, and plaining song, We found not summer's day too long."
 Through many a shadowy spot they past, Looking its loveliest and its last, Until they paused beneath the shade Of cypress and of roses made,— The one so sad, the one so fair, Just blent as love and sorrow are. And Raymond prayed the maiden gather, And twine in a red wreath together The roses. "No," she sigh'd "not these Sweet children of the sun and breeze, Born for the beauty of a day, Dying as all fair things decay
When loveliest,—these may not be, Raymond, my parting gift to thee." From next her heart, where it had lain, She took an amber scented chain, To which a cross of gold was hung, And round the warrior's neck she flung The relique, while he kiss'd away The warm tears that upon it lay. And mark'd they not the pale, dim sky Had lost its moonlit brilliancy, When suddenly a bugle rang,— Forth at its summons Raymond sprang, But turn'd again to say farewell To her whose gushing teardrops fell Like summer rain,—but he is gone! And Eva weeps, and weeps alone.
Dark was the shade of that old tower In the grey light of morning's hour; And cold and pale the maiden leant Over the heavy battlement, And look'd upon the armed show That hurrying throng'd the court below: With her white robe and long bright hair, A golden veil flung on the air, Like Peace prepared from earth to fly, Yet pausing, ere she wing'd on high, In pity for the rage and crime That forced her to some fairer clime. When suddenly her pale cheek burn'd, For Raymond's eye to her's was turn'd; But like a meteor past its flame—
She was too sad for maiden shame.
She heard the heavy drawbridge fall, And Raymond rode the first of all; But when he came to the green height Which hid the castle from his sight, With useless spur and slacken'd rein, He was the laggard of the train. They paused upon the steep ascent, And spear, and shield, and breast-plate sent A light, as if the rising day Upon a mirror flash'd its ray. They pass on, Eva only sees A chance plume waving in the breeze, And then can see no more—but borne Upon the echo, came the horn; At last nor sight nor sound declare Aught of what pass'd that morning there.
Sweet sang the birds, light swept the breeze, And play'd the sunlight o'er the trees, And roll'd the river's depths of blue Quiet as they were wont to do. And Eva felt as if of all Her heart were sole memorial.