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Sidney Lanier - The Tournament
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Joust First.


    I.

Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies,
 And the knights still hurried amain
To the tournament under the ladies` eyes,
 Where the jousters were Heart and Brain.

    II.

Flourished the trumpets:  entered Heart,
 A youth in crimson and gold.
Flourished again:  Brain stood apart,
 Steel-armored, dark and cold.

    III.

Heart`s palfrey caracoled gayly round,
 Heart tra-li-ra`d merrily;
But Brain sat still, with never a sound,
 So cynical-calm was he.

    IV.

Heart`s helmet-crest bore favors three
 From his lady`s white hand caught;
While Brain wore a plumeless casque; not he
 Or favor gave or sought.

    V.

The herald blew; Heart shot a glance
 To find his lady`s eye,
But Brain gazed straight ahead his lance
 To aim more faithfully.

    VI.

They charged, they struck; both fell, both bled.
 Brain rose again, ungloved,
Heart, dying, smiled and faintly said,
 "My love to my beloved!"

__
Camp French, Wilmington, N.C., May, 1862.


  Joust Second.


    I.

A-many sweet eyes wept and wept,
 A-many bosoms heaved again;
A-many dainty dead hopes slept
 With yonder Heart-knight prone o` the plain.

    II.

Yet stars will burn through any mists,
 And the ladies` eyes, through rains of fate,
Still beamed upon the bloody lists
 And lit the joust of Love and Hate.

    III.

O strange! or ere a trumpet blew,
 Or ere a challenge-word was given,
A knight leapt down i` the lists; none knew
 Whether he sprang from earth or heaven.

    IV.

His cheek was soft as a lily-bud,
 His grey eyes calmed his youth`s alarm;
Nor helm nor hauberk nor even a hood
 Had he to shield his life from harm.

    V.

No falchion from his baldric swung,
 He wore a white rose in its place.
No dagger at his girdle hung,
 But only an olive-branch, for grace.

    VI.

And "Come, thou poor mistaken knight,"
 Cried Love, unarmed, yet dauntless there,
"Come on, God pity thee! —  I fight
 Sans sword, sans shield; yet, Hate, beware!"

    VII.

Spurred furious Hate; he foamed at mouth,
 His breath was hot upon the air,
His breath scorched souls, as a dry drought
 Withers green trees and burns them bare.

    VIII.

Straight drives he at his enemy,
 His hairy hands grip lance in rest,
His lance it gleams full bitterly,
 God! — gleams, true-point, on Love`s bare breast!

    IX.

Love`s grey eyes glow with a heaven-heat,
 Love lifts his hand in a saintly prayer;
Look!  Hate hath fallen at his feet!
 Look!  Hate hath vanished in the air!

    X.

Then all the throng looked kind on all;
 Eyes yearned, lips kissed, dumb souls were freed;
Two magic maids` hands lifted a pall
 And the dead knight, Heart, sprang on his steed.

    XI.

Then Love cried, "Break me his lance, each knight!
 Ye shall fight for blood-athirst Fame no more!"
And the knights all doffed their mailed might
 And dealt out dole on dole to the poor.

    XII.

Then dove-flights sanctified the plain,
 And hawk and sparrow shared a nest.
And the great sea opened and swallowed Pain,
 And out of this water-grave floated Rest!
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