IV.

THE CUSTOM OF LUSACE.

When died a noble Marquis of Lusace 'Twas custom for the heir who filled his place Before assuming princely pomp and power To sup one night in Corbus' olden tower. From this weird meal he passed to the degree Of Prince and Margrave; nor could ever he Be thought brave knight, or she--if woman claim The rank--be reckoned of unblemished fame Till they had breathed the air of ages gone, The funeral odors, in the nest alone Of its dead masters. Ancient was the race; To trace the upward stem of proud Lusace Gives one a vertigo; descended they From ancestor of Attila, men say; Their race to him--through Pagans--they hark back; Becoming Christians, race they thought to track Through Lechus, Plato, Otho to combine With Ursus, Stephen, in a lordly line. Of all those masters of the country round That were on Northern Europe's boundary found-- At first were waves and then the dykes were reared-- Corbus in double majesty appeared, Castle on hill and town upon the plain; And one who mounted on the tower could gain A view beyond the pines and rocks, of spires That pierce the shade the distant scene acquires; A walled town is it, but 'tis not ally Of the old citadel's proud majesty; Unto itself belonging this remained. Often a castle was thus self-sustained And equalled towns; witness in Lombardy Crama, and Plato too in Tuscany, And in Apulia Barletta;--each one Was powerful as a town, and dreaded none. Corbus ranked thus; its precincts seemed to hold The reflex of its mighty kings of old; Their great events had witness in these walls, Their marriages were here and funerals, And mostly here it was that they were born; And here crowned Barons ruled with pride and scorn; Cradle of Scythian majesty this place. Now each new master of this ancient race A duty owed to ancestors which he Was bound to carry on. The law's decree It was that he should pass alone the night Which made him king, as in their solemn sight. Just at the forest's edge a clerk was met With wine in sacred cup and purpose set, A wine mysterious, which the heir must drink To cause deep slumber till next day's soft brink. Then to the castle tower he wends his way, And finds a supper laid with rich display. He sups and sleeps: then to his slumbering eyes The shades of kings from Bela all arise. None dare the tower to enter on this night, But when the morning dawns, crowds are in sight The dreamer to deliver,--whom half dazed, And with the visions of the night amazed, They to the old church take, where rests the dust Of Borivorus; then the bishop must, With fervent blessings on his eyes and mouth, Put in his hands the stony hatchets both, With which--even like death impartially-- Struck Attila, with one arm dexterously The south, and with the other arm the north.

This day the town the threatening flag set forth Of Marquis Swantibore, the monster he Who in the wood tied up his wife, to be Devoured by wolves, together with the bull Of which with jealousy his heart was full.

Even when woman took the place of heir The tower of Corbus claimed the supper there; 'Twas law--the woman trembled, but must dare.