And did descry—Oh! hope was high!—- That he of it was fain. "So I struck my harp and sang once more Of a minstrel wandering far, Till he reached the strand of a distant land Where trusty yeomen are, "Where hearts will swell with joy to hear Of their dear and distant King, And burn for shame of his knightly fame And the false imprisoning—— "And Richard sang from his mighty throat 'Oh Blondel, blessed be thou, Thy star of birth makes glad the earth, Thy wit shall save me now. "'Oh tell my people that I am woe For my absence long and drear, When the land did bleed under wolfish greed And the shepherd was not near.'" (Sullen and black was the brow of John Like an angry thunder-cloud, But the poet recked not in his respect, His message spake aloud.) "'And tell my people Richard sends His heart in the minstrel's hand, And my eyes shall yearn until they turn On the cliffs of my loyal land. "'And this do I add at night and morn, When I pray for the fall of Zion: To my people send a better friend, Oh God, than Richard the Lion!'" IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW What can death render us commensurate With what it takes away; the voice of birds On sweet spring mornings, and the face of spring; And lush long grass around the browsing herds; And shadows on the distant hills the flying rain-clouds fling? What is there brighter in the world to come Than white-winged sea-gulls, flashing in the sun Above the blue Atlantic; what more free, Yet what more stable, than those white wings, strung All motionless, against a wind that whips the racing sea? Yea, and if these things yet may be the soul's— The summer moon above the garden flowers Dew-drenched, and the slow song of nightingales— Yea, and if all these after death be ours, More beauty yet, and peace from strife, yet still the debt prevails. For what can ever give us back again The dear, familiar things of every day; The loved and common language that we share; The trivial pleasures; and, when children play, Their laughter, and the touch of hands; and jests; and common care?