Ivanhoe, and recover the honor thou hadst lost! By that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee, Templar, a coward in every court of Europe, in every Preceptory of thine Order, unless thou do battle without farther delay." Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe: "Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for the death thou hast drawn upon thee!" "Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?" said Ivanhoe. "I may not deny what thou hast challenged," said the Grand Master, "provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An An enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honorably met with." 66 Thus, thus as I am, and not otherwise," said Ivanhoe; "it is the judgment of God-to his keeping I commend myself. Rebecca," said he, riding up to the fatal chair, "dost thou accept me for thy champion?' "I do," she said, "I do," fluttered by an emotion which the fear of death had been unable to produce; "I do accept thee as the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no, no, thy wounds are uncured. Meet not that proud man; why shouldst thou perish also?" But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face was now become suddenly very much flushed. The herald then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted his voice, repeating thrice: "Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers!" After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, and again proclaimed that none, on peril of instant death, should dare by word, cry, or action to interfere with or disturb this fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca's glove, now threw it into the lists, and pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez aller. The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimed lance and the vigorous steed of the Templar. This issue of the combat all had foreseen; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast, and the sword's point to his throat, commanded him to yield, or die on the spot. BoisGuilbert returned no answer. "Slay him not, Sir Knight," cried the Grand Master "unshriven and unabsolved-kill not body and soul! We allow him vanquished." He descended into the lists, and commanded them to unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed; the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment, the eyes opened; but they were fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending passions. "This is indeed the judgment of God," said the Grand Master, looking upwards. He prayeth best, who loveth best - COLERIDGE. - BREAK, BREAK, BREAK ALFRED TENNYSON Break, break, break, On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. Oh, well for the fisherman's boy That he shouts with his sister at play! Oh, well for the sailor lad That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on, To their haven under the hill; But oh, for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. |