146 BERNARDINE DU BORN.
Hath reason quite forsook thy breast ? "
Plantagenet inquired. Sir Bernard turned him toward the king,
He blenched not in his pride ; " My reason failed, my gracious liege,
The year Prince Henry died."
Quick at that name a cloud of woe
Pass'd o'er the monarch's brow ; Touched was that bleeding cord of love,
To which the mightiest bow. Again swept back the tide of years,
Again his first-born moved, The fair, the graceful, the sublime,
The erring, yet beloved.
And ever, cherished by his side,
One chosen friend was near, To share in boyhood's ardent sport,
Or youth's untamed career. With him the merry chase he sought,
Beneath the dewy morn ; With him in knightly tourney rode
This Bernardine du Born.
Then in the mourning father's soul Each trace of ire grew dim ;
�� �
