When the Brothers reach'd the gateway, Eustace pointed with his lance To the Horn which there was hanging; Horn of the inheritance.
Horn it was which none could sound, No one upon living ground, Save He who came as rightful Heir To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair.
Heirs from ages without record Had the House of Lucie born, Who of right had claim'd the Lordship By the proof upon the Horn:
Each at the appointed hour Tried the Horn, it own'd his power; He was acknowledged: and the blast Which good Sir Eustace sounded was the last.
With his lance Sir Eustace pointed, And to Hubert thus said he, “What I speak this Horn shall witness For thy better memory.
Hear, then, and neglect me not! At this time, and on this spot, The words are utter'd from my heart, As my last earnest prayer ere we depart.”
“On good service we are going Life to risk by sea and land; In which course if Christ our Saviour Do my sinful soul demand,
Hither come thou back straightway, Hubert, if alive that day; Return, and sound the Horn, that we May have a living House still left in thee!”
“Fear not,” quickly answer'd Hubert; “As I am thy Father's son, What thou askest, noble Brother, With God's favour shall be done.”
So were both right well content: From the Castle forth they went. And at the head of their Array To Palestine the Brothers took their way.
Side by side they fought ( the Lucies Were a line for valour fam'd ) And where'er their strokes alighted There the Saracens were tam'd.
Whence, then, could it come the thought, By what evil spirit brought? Oh! can a brave Man wish to take His Brother's life, for Land's and Castle's sake?
“Sir!” the Ruffians said to Hubert, “Deep he lies in Jordan flood.” — Stricken by this ill assurance, Pale and trembling Hubert stood.
“Take your earnings.” — Oh! that I Could have seen my Brother die! It was a pang that vex'd him then; And oft returned, again, and yet again.
Months pass'd on, and no Sir Eustace! Nor of him were tidings heard. Wherefore, bold as day, the Murderer Back again to England steer'd.
To his Castle Hubert sped; He has nothing now to dread. But silent and by stealth he came, And at an hour which nobody could name.
None could tell if it were night-time, Night or day, at even or morn; For the sound was heard by no one Of the proclamation-horn.
But bold Hubert lives in glee: Months and years went smilingly; With plenty was his table spread; And bright the Lady is who shares his bed.
Likewise he had Sons and Daughters; And, as good men do, he sate At his board by these surrounded, Flourishing in fair estate.
And, while thus in open day Once he sate, as old books say, A blast was utter'd from the Horn, Where by the Castle-gate it hung forlorn.
‘ Tis the breath of good Sir Eustace! He is come to claim his right: Ancient Castle, Woods, and Mountains Hear the challenge with delight.
Hubert! though the blast be blown He is helpless and alone: Thou hast a dungeon, speak the word! And there he may be lodg'd, and thou be Lord.
Speak! astounded Hubert cannot; And if power to speak he had, All are daunted, all the household Smitten to the heart, and sad.
‘ Tis Sir Eustace; if it be Living Man, it must be he! Thus Hubert thought in his dismay, And by a Postern-gate he slunk away.
Long, and long was he unheard of: To his Brother then he came, Made confession, ask'd forgiveness, Ask'd it by a Brother's name,
And by all the saints in heaven; And of Eustace was forgiv'n: Then in a Convent went to hide His melancholy head, and there he died.
But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels Had preserv'd from Murderers’ hands, And from Pagan chains had rescued, Liv'd with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs: And through ages, Heirs of Heirs, A long posterity renown'd, Sounded the Horn which they alone could sound.
Cookies on Poetry Cove