Page:De Chatillon.pdf/13

 Lay lance in rest!—wave, noble banners! wave! [Throwing down his sword. Go from me!—leave the fallen!

Her. Nay, but the cause! Tell us the cause!

Rai. (approaching him indignantly.) Your sword—your crested helm And your knight's mantle—cast them down! your name Is in the dust!—our father's name! The cause! —Tell it not, tell it not! [Turning to the soldiers and waving his hand. Sound, trumpets! sound! On, lances! for the Cross!

[''Military music. As the knights march out,''

I would not now Call back my noble father from the dead, If I could with but a breath!—Sound, trumpets, sound! [Exeunt knights and soldiers.

Aym. Why should I bear this shame? 'tis not too late! [Rushing after them, he suddenly checks himself. My faith! my knightly faith pledged to my fall! [Exit.

1st Cit. (to 2d.) From the walls, how goes the battle?

2d. Cit. Well, all well, Praise to the Saints! I saw De Chatillon fighting, as if upon his single arm The fate o' the day were set.

3d. Cit. Shame light on those That strike not with him in their place!

1st Cit. You mean His brother? Ay, is't not a fearful thing That one of such a race—a brave one too— Should have thus fallen?

2d Cit. They say the captive girl Whom he so loved, hath won him from his faith To the vile Paynim creed.

Aym. (suddenly coming forward.) Who dares say that? Show me who dares say that! [They shrink back—he laughs scornfully. Ha! ha! ye thought To play with a sleeper's name!—to make your mirth As low-born men sit by a tomb, and jest