Britain ... - Blue-Lite

THE VARANGIAN. [Act I.
Their dances, minstrelsy, and merry tales
May well amuse us, till the banquet hour
To more substantial jollity invites
Our willing presence; when the flowing cups,
Filled with the vintages of sunny France,
Will circle
briskly, and clear off* the fogs
Of this dull isle that mantle on our wit,
Which then shall flash in joyous brightness forth.
OSMOND.
O lovely France ! thy name stirs in my soul
A thousand joys,
ten thousand fond regrets.
O for thy splendid tournaments again !
In which so oft on thy proud fields have I
Dashed onward to the trump's enlivening notes,
The gayest of her knights.
FITZ-ROLLO.
Rather would I
Rush to the plunder of some wealthy town
Or castle of these hated Saxon lords,
Than win a bootless prize in boy-like strife.
OSMOND.
So would not I. Give me thy listed fields,
Bright France, again ! My spirit burns to view,
Though but in fancy, those gay scenes of fame.
Gold-bannered tents and curtained galleries spread
Their rainbow dyes on every side, with kings
And princes thronged in gorgeous majesty ;
Where twice a thousand radiant beauties shone
With bright gems splendid, and still brighter eyes,
That formed a galaxy of mingled beams
Circling the noisy barriers. Then what crowds
Of war-like knights and steeds of noble breed,
In polished arms and jewelled trappings clad,