Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/257

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THE CAPTIVITY OF FRANCIS I.
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That name shall be storied in record sublime,
In the uttermost corners of earth,
And renowned till the wreck of expiring time,
Be the glorified land of my birth.
Yes, bury my heart in the boundless sea,—
It would burst from a narrower tomb,
Should less than an ocean my sepulchre be,
Or if wrapped in less horrible gloom.

The Captivity of Francis I.
From the French.

When the King, from France departing,
 Other lands to conquer sought,
'Twas at Pavia he was taken,
 By the wily Spaniard caught.

"Yield thee, yield thee straight, King Francis,
 Death or prison is thy lot."
"Wherefore call you me King Francis?
 Such a monarch know I not."

Then the Spaniard raised his mantle,
 And beheld the Fleur-de-lys;
Then they chain him, and, full joyous,
 Bear him to captivity.

In a tower where moon nor sunlight
 Came but by a window small,
There he lay, and, as he gazes,
 Sees a courier pass the wall.

"Courier, who art letters bringing,
 Tell me what in France is said."
"Ah! my news is sad and heavy,
 For the King is ta'en or dead!"

"Back with speed, oh, courier, hasten,
 Haste to Paris back with speed;
To my wife and little children,
 Bid them help me at my need;

"Bid them coin new gold and silver,
 All that Paris has to bring;
And send here a heap of treasure,
 To redeem the captive King."

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