"I forgive thee." Then turning to his captain, Richard added, "Let his chains be removed, set him free, and give him a hundred shillings."
This act of noble forgiveness was the last deed of the erring but great-hearted king.
The death so often defied on the battlefield, Richard met calmly, with the courage that had never failed him in life,--that splendid courage which won for him the heroic title of Lionheart.
No captive knight, whom chains confine, Can tell his fate and not repine; Yet with a song he cheers the gloom That hangs around his living tomb. Shame to his friends!--the king remains Two years unransomed and in chains.
Now let them know, my brave barons, My English, Normans, and Gascons, Not one liege-man so poor have I, That I would not his freedom buy. I'll not reproach their noble line, Though chains and dungeon still are mine.
The dead,--nor friends nor kin have they! Nor friends nor kin my ransom pay! My wrongs afflict me--yet far more For faithless friends my heart is sore. Oh, what a blot upon their name, If I should perish thus in shame!
Nor is it strange I suffer pain When sacred oaths are thus made vain, And when the king with bloody hands Spreads war and pillage through my lands. One only solace now remains-- I soon shall burst these servile chains.
Ye troubadours and friends of mine, Brave Chail and noble Pensauvine, Go tell my rivals, in your song, This heart hath never done them wrong. He infamy--not glory--gains, Who strikes a monarch in his chains!
_Written by Richard I. while prisoner in Germany._
(_From_ SPOFFORD'S _Library of Historic Character and Famous Events_.)
Slowly The Last Crusader eyed The towers, the mount, the stream, the plain, And thought of those whose blood had dyed The earth with crimson streams in vain!
He thought of that sublime array, The hosts, that over land and deep The hermit marshall'd on their way, To see those towers, and halt to weep!
Resign'd the loved, familiar lands, O'er burning wastes the cross to bear, And rescue from the Paynim's hands No empire save a sepulchre!
And vain the hope, and vain the loss, And vain the famine and the strife; In vain the faith that bore the cross, The valour prodigal of life.
And vain was Richard's lion-soul, And guileless Godfrey's patient mind-- Like waves on shore, they reach'd the goal, To die, and leave no trace behind!