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Token Rings: Hernando

At the nearest town he lighted down before a goldsmith's gate : He hath bought three rings of plain red gold, like those by Clara worn, O bitterly thy slight of me, proud lady, shalt thou mourn !' He hath mounted again his coal-black barb before the break of day. And who is he, the warrior bold, who meets him on the way? It is the brave Hernando, who, the Soldan's city won, Now pants to hold within his arms his wife and new-born son. 'What news? what news? thou noble knight; good friend, thy tidings tell- How fare my wife and infant child-say, are they safe and well?' 'Thy wife is well, and eke the boy'-' Thy speech is brief and cold; Clara is true?' - 'For answer, look on these three rings of gold.' One instant, and his vizor's clos'd, his lance is in the rest- 'Defend thee now, thou felon knight! Foul shame be on thy crest!' One charge-one shock. The traitor's corse is from the saddle cast, Through plate, and chain, and gambeson, Hernando's spear hath pass'd. He buries in his courser's flank his bloody spears again; Away! away! he scales the hill-he thunders o'er the plain ! 'Up, Clara, up!' her mother cries; 'Hernando comes! I see The well-known blazon on his shield. 'Tis he, my child, 'tis he!' 'Oh, mother! rides he fast as one who to his true-love hies? Canst see his face, dear mother? Looks joy from out his eyes?' 'His helmet, child, is open, and he rideth fast enow, But his cheek is pale, and bent, as if in anger, seems his brow.' The tramp of armed feet is heard upon the turret stair; Forth springs to meet her lord's embrace that lady fond and fair. By the silken locks, in which his hands have oft been fondly twined, He hath seized and dragged her from her bower with jealous fury blind. He hath bound her at his horse's heels-nor shriek nor prayer he heeds; O'er rugged rock, through bush and briar, the goaded courser speeds; Her flesh is rent by every thorn, her blood stains every stone, - Now, Jesu sweet, have mercy! for her cruel lord hath none! And lo! the sharp edge of a flint hath shorn the cord in twain; Down leaps the vengeful lord to make his victim fast again. What have I done? Before I die, my crime, Hernando, say?' 'The golden rings I charged thee keep, thou false one, where are they?' 'Oh where, but on the hand which, with my heart, I gave to thee! Draw off my glove-I cannot-for my strength is failing me!' 'Oh curses on my frantic rage!-my wrong'd-my murder'd wife- Come forth, my sword! Then, Clara, shall life atone for life!' She staggered up, love gave her strength, the sword afar she hurl'd, Thou know'st my innocence! Oh, live to prove it to the world! A A Weep not for Clara-loved by thee, contented she expires! Live for our child-the boy whose fame shall emulate his sire's!' 'Our child !-the child my fury hath made motherless to-day! And when he for his mother asks-O God-what shall I say?' Say that her name was Clara-that thy love was her pride- That, blessing him and thee, she smiled, as in thy arms she died!' Mr. Planché has borrowed the subject of his admirable poem from a legend still popular in Normandy. It is that of Marianson, the wife of a French noble. An evil spirit instigates a false knight to borrow the three golden tokenrings of the lady during the absence of her lord. He takes them to a jeweller, who is ordered to prepare three others exactly similar, and then returns the lady her own rings. On his way he meets the husband, whose wife he declares has been unfaithful, and in proof of his assertion he shows the three surreptitious rings. The result of this is the fearful death of Marianson, being tied to the tail of a wild horse, and torn to pieces, and the after-discovery of the three rings in her drawer by the jealous husband.

A somewhat similar legend is related of the Lady of Toggenburg, who lived in a castle near the Lake of Zurich. Her 'token' ring was stolen by a crow, who dropped it in the park, where it was found by a young squire, who placed it on his finger. The Count of Toggenburg, passing at the time, saw the ring, and, inflamed by jealous fury, without asking any questions, rushed into the castle, and hurled his wife from the battlements into the lake. The young squire was torn to pieces by wild horses.