Part 23

No lordly guest that feast had blessed, No solemn prayer was said; But with ravenous hands, unthankfully, They brake their daily bread.

The chase was done--the feast was begun, When a palmer sat in that hall; Yet his pale dim eye from its rest ne'er rose, To gaze on that festival!

The crackling blaze on his wan cheek plays, And athwart his gloomy brow; While his hands are spread to the rising flame, And his feet to the embers' glow.

For the blast was chill, o'er the mist-covered hill, And the palmer's limbs were old; And weary the way his feet had trod, Since the matin-bell had tolled.

The baron spake--"This morsel take, And yon pilgrim greet from me; Tell him we may not forget to share The joys of our revelry!"

Then thus began that holy man, As he lowly bent his knee-- "I may not taste of the meat unblessed; I would 'twere so with thee."

"Then mumble thy charm o'er the embers warm," That baron proud replied; "No boon from my hand shalt thou receive, Nor foaming cup from my side."

The palmer bowed, the giddy crowd, With mirth and unseemly jest, His meekness taunt, when he answered not, The gibe of each courtly guest.

The minstrel sang, the clarions rang, And the baron sat proudly there, And louder the revelry rode on the wind, That swept through the hurtling air.

"What tidings for me from the east countrie? What news from the Paynim land?" As the baron spake, his goblet bright He raised in his outstretched hand.

"There's tidings for thee from the east countrie," The pilgrim straight replied; "A mighty chief, at a mighty feast, There sat in all his pride."

"'Twas wondrous well;--and what befell This chief at his lordly feast?" "A goblet was filled with the red grape's blood, And he pledged each rising guest."

"'Tis gladsome news;--but did they refuse The pledge they loved so well?" "Oh no; for each cup mantling forth to the brim, Did the harp and the clarion tell."

"And where didst thou such tidings know?" "A pilgrim told it me: And he sat on the hearth at this unblessed feast, Where he shared not the revelry,

"For ere was quaffed each sparkling draught, Or the foam from the ruby wine, He dashed the cup from that baron's lip, As now I do from thine!"

And the palmer passed by, as each goblet on high Was waved at their chief's command, But ere the cup had touched his lip, It was dashed from his lifted hand!

"A boon from thee, on my bended knee," The palmer boldly cried; "Seize first with speed yon traitor page Who bore the cup to thy side."

And the page they have bound on the cold, cold ground, And his treason he hath confessed; He had poisoned the cup with one subtle drop, Which he drew from his crimson vest.

And the palmer grey his treachery Had watched, when all beside In the feast were gaily revelling, Nor danger there espied.

"Say where didst thou the treason know?" The troubled chieftain cried; "I had blessed thy bread, I had blessed thy bowl," The hoary man replied.

"And the blessing was given--the boon from heaven; Or this night from thy lordly bed Thy spirit had passed with the shuddering blast, With the loud, shrill shriek of the dead!

"Oh! never taste the meat unblessed; Remember the palmer grey; Though he wander afar from thy castle gate, Yet forget not thy feast to-day."

And the pilgrim is gone from that gate alone, When prayer and vow were said; And the blessing thenceforth from that house was heard Ere they broke their daily bread.

THE DULE UPO' DUN.

"Wae, wae is me, on soul an' body, Old Hornie has lifted his paw, man; An' the carle will come, an' gallop me hame, An' I maun gae pipe in his ha', man!"

--Old Ballad.

For the tradition upon which the following tale is founded, the author is indebted to The Kaleidoscope, an interesting weekly miscellany, published by Messrs Smith and Son at Liverpool.

Barely three miles from Clitheroe, as you enter a small village on the right of the high road to Gisburne, stands a public-house, having for its sign the title of our story. On it is depicted his Satanic majesty, curiously mounted upon a scraggy dun horse, without saddle, bridle, of any sort of equipments whatsoever--the terrified steed being off and away at full gallop from the door, where a small hilarious tailor, with shears and measures, appears to view the departure of him of the cloven foot with anything but grief or disapprobation.