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Was laid upon his head, now bending low,

And looking up, a stranger met his eye,

Who said: “Why art thou here, why dost thou cry?

The melodies which o’er the waters go,

Proceed from chimes made in thy native land;

Thy own they are, go seek them till thou findest,

Then is thy journey ended, and the strife,

Then shalt thou know the joy which heaven will give,

So overwhelming that thou canst not live;

Now, henceforth thou must sacrifice thy life,

To those who bear the cross our God is kindest.”

When from his dream he woke, he pondered long

Its meaning, and at last waxed confident,

It was an angel that had spoken thus;

For calling in distress, God heareth us,

His unseen ministers to us are sent,

To give us light, and weeping change to song.

He also felt assured, his chimes had found

A place across the seas, though not in France,

May be in England or some British isle,—

This thought provoked a melancholy smile,

For Richard’s fame and knightly lance,

And Blondel’s song were with it bound.