“BRING me,” he said, “that scribe of fame,

Symeon el Siddekah his name:

With parchment skin, and pen in hand,

I would devise my Cornish land.

 

“Seven goodly manors, fair and wide,

Stretch from the sea to Tamar side:

And Bien-aimé, my hall and bower,

Nestles beneath tall Stratton Tower.

 

“All these I render to my God,

By seal and signet, knife and sod:

I give and grant to church and poor,

In franc-almoign forevermore.

 

“Choose ye seven men among the just,

And bid them hold my lands in trust;

On Michael’s morn, and Mary’s day,

To deal the dole, and watch and pray.

 

“Then bear me coldly o’er the deep,

Mid my own people I would sleep:

Their hearts shall melt, their prayers will breathe,

Where he who loved them rests beneath.

 

“Mould me in stone as here I lie,

My face upturned to Syria’s sky:

Carve ye this good sword at my side,

And write the legend, ‘True and tried.’

 

“Let mass be said, and requiem sung;

And that sweet chime I loved be rung:

Those sounds along the northern wall

Shall thrill me like a trumpet-call.”

 

Thus said he, and at set of sun

The bold Crusader’s race was run.

Seek ye his ruined hall and bower?

Then stand beneath tall Stratton Tower.