As I lay upon my bed:
Sorrow! the man I'll never see
That had my maidenhead.
But as Ellayne sat on her window-seat
And comb'd her yellow hair,
She saw come over Stamford bridge
The scarlet pennon fair.
As Ellayne lay and sicken'd sore,
The gold shoes on her feet,
She saw Sir Robert and his men
Ride up the Stamford street.
He had a coat of fine red gold,
And a bascinet of steel;
Take note his goodly Collayne sword
Smote the spur upon his heel.
And by his side, on a grey jennet,
There rode a fair lady,
For every ruby Ellayne wore,
I count she carried three.
Say, was not Ellayne's gold hair fine,
That fell to her middle free?
But that lady's hair down in the street,
Fell lower than her knee.
Fair Ellayne's face, from sorrow and grief,
Was waxen pale and green:
That lady's face was goodly red,
She had but little tene.
But as he pass'd by her window
He grew a little wroth:
O, why does yon pale face look at me
From out the golden cloth?
It is some burd, the fair dame said,
That aye rode him beside,
Has come to see your bonny face
This merry summer-tide.
But Ellayne let a lily-flower
Light on his cap of steel:
O, I have gotten two hounds, fair knight,
The one has served me well;
But the other, just an hour agone,
Has come from over sea,
And all his fell is sleek and fine,
But little he knows of me.
Now, which shall I let go, fair knight,
And which shall bide with me?
O, lady, have no doubt to keep
The one that best loveth thee.
O, Robert, see how sick I am!
Ye do not so by me.
Lie still, fair love, have ye gotten harm
While I was on the sea?
Of one gift, Robert, that ye gave,
I sicken to the death,
I pray you nurse-tend me, my knight,
Whiles that I have my breath.
Six fathoms from the Stamford bridge
He left that dame to stand,
And whiles she wept, and whiles she cursed
That she ever had taken land.
He has kiss'd sweet Ellayne on the mouth,
And fair she fell asleep,
And long and long days after that
Sir Robert's house she did keep.
RIDING TOGETHER
For many, many days together
The wind blew steady from the East;
For many days hot grew the weather,
About the time of our Lady's Feast.
For many days we rode together,
Yet met we neither friend nor foe;
Hotter and clearer grew the weather,
Steadily did the East wind blow.
We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather,
Clear-cut, with shadows very black,
As freely we rode on together
With helms unlaced and bridles slack.
And often as we rode together,
We, looking down the green-bank'd stream,
Saw flowers in the sunny weather,
And saw the bubble-making bream.
And in the night lay down together,
And hung above our heads the rood,
Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather,
The while the moon did watch the wood.
Our spears stood bright and thick together,
Straight out the banners stream'd behind,
As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather,
With faces turn'd towards the wind.
Down sank our threescore spears together,
As thick we saw the pagans ride;
His eager face in the clear fresh weather,
Shone out that last time by my side.
Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together,
It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears,
Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather,
The elm-tree flowers fell like tears.
There, as we roll'd and writhed together,
I threw my arms above my head,
For close by my side, in the lovely weather,
I saw him reel and fall back dead.
I and the slayer met together,
He waited the death-stroke there in his place,
With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather,
Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face.
Madly I fought as we fought together;
In vain: the little Christian band
The pagans drown'd, as in stormy weather,
The river drowns low-lying land.
They bound my blood-stain'd hands together,
They bound his corpse to nod by my side:
Then on we rode, in the bright March weather,
With clash of cymbals did we ride.
We ride no more, no more together;
My prison-bars are thick and strong,
I take no heed of any weather,
The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
FATHER JOHN'S WAR-SONG
THE REAPERS.
So many reapers, Father John,
So many reapers and no little son,
To meet you when the day is done,
With little stiff legs to waddle and run?
Pray you beg, borrow, or steal one son.
Hurrah for the corn-sheaves of Father John!
FATHER JOHN.
O maiden Mary, be wary, be wary!
And go not down to the river,
Lest the kingfisher, your evil wisher,
Lure you down to the river,
Lest your white feet grow muddy,
Your red hair too ruddy
With the river-mud so red;
But when you are wed
Go down to the river.
O maiden Mary, be very wary,
And dwell among the corn!
See, this dame Alice, maiden Mary,
Her hair is thin and white,
But she is a housewife good and wary,
And a great steel key hangs bright
From her gown, as red as the flowers in corn;
She is good and old like the autumn corn.
MAIDEN MARY.
This is knight Roland, Father John,
Stark in his arms from a field half-won;
Ask him if he has seen your son:
Roland, lay your sword on the corn,
The piled-up sheaves of the golden corn.
KNIGHT ROLAND.
Why does she kiss me, Father John?
She is my true love truly won!
Under my helm is room for one,
But the molten lead-streams trickle and run
From my roof-tree, burning under the sun;
No corn to burn, we had eaten the corn,
There was no waste of the golden corn.
FATHER JOHN.
Ho, you reapers, away from the corn,
To march with the banner of Father John!
THE REAPERS.
We will win a house for Roland his son,
And for maiden Mary with hair like corn,
As red as the reddest of golden corn.
OMNES.
Father John, you have got a son,
Seven feet high when his helm is on
Pennon of Roland, banner of John,
Star of Mary, march well on.
SIR GILES' WAR-SONG
_Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
The clink of arms is good to hear,
The flap of pennons fair to see;
_Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
The leopards and lilies are fair to see;
St. George Guienne! right good to hear:
_Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
I stood by the barrier,
My coat being blazon'd fair to see;
_Ho! is there any will ride with me,
Sir Giles, le bon des barrieres?_
Clisson put out his head to see,
And lifted his basnet up to hear;
I pull'd him through the bars to ME,
_Sir Giles; le bon des barrieres._
NEAR AVALON
A ship with shields before the sun,
Six maidens round the mast,
A red-gold crown on every one,
A green gown on the last.
The fluttering green banners there
Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
And a portraiture of Guenevere
The middle of each sail doth bear.
A ship which sails before the wind,
And round the helm six knights,
Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind,
They pass by many sights.
The tatter'd scarlet banners there,
Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare.
Those six knights sorrowfully bear,
In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
PRAISE OF MY LADY
My lady seems of ivory
Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be
Hollow'd a little mournfully.
_Beata mea Domina!_
Her forehead, overshadow'd much
By bows of hair, has a wave such
As God was good to make for me.
_Beata mea Domina!_
Not greatly long my lady's hair,
Nor yet with yellow colour fair,
But thick and crisped wonderfully:
_Beata mea Domina!_
Heavy to make the pale face sad,
And dark, but dead as though it had
Been forged by God most wonderfully
_Beata mea Domina!_
Of some strange metal, thread by thread,
To stand out from my lady's head,
Not moving much to tangle me.
_Beata mea Domina!_
Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.
The lashes a clear shadow throw
Where I would wish my lips to be.
_Beata mea Domina!_
Her great eyes, standing far apart,
Draw up some memory from her heart,
And gaze out very mournfully;
_Beata mea Domina!_
So beautiful and kind they are,
But most times looking out afar,
Waiting for something, not for me.
_Beata mea Domina!_
I wonder if the lashes long
Are those that do her bright eyes wrong,
For always half tears seem to be
_Beata mea Domina!_
Lurking below the underlid,
Darkening the place where they lie hid:
If they should rise and flow for me!
_Beata mea Domina!_
Her full lips being made to kiss,
Curl'd up and pensive each one is;
This makes me faint to stand and see.
_Beata mea Domina!_
Her lips are not contented now,
Because the hours pass so slow
Towards a sweet time: (pray for me),
_Beata mea Domina!_
Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell?
But this at least I know full well,
Her lips are parted longingly,
_Beata mea Domina!_
So passionate and swift to move,
To pluck at any flying love,
That I grow faint to stand and see.
_Beata mea Domina_!
Yea! there beneath them is her chin,
So fine and round, it were a sin
To feel no weaker when I see
_Beata mea Domina_!
God's dealings; for with so much care
And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,
He finishes her face for me.
_Beata mea Domina_!
Of her long neck what shall I say?
What things about her body's sway,
Like a knight's pennon or slim tree
_Beata mea Domina_!
Set gently waving in the wind;
Or her long hands that I may find
On some day sweet to move o'er me?
_Beata mea Domina!_
God pity me though, if I miss'd
The telling, how along her wrist
The veins creep, dying languidly
_Beata mea Domina!_
Inside her tender palm and thin.
Now give me pardon, dear, wherein
My voice is weak and vexes thee.
_Beata mea Domina!_
All men that see her any time,
I charge you straightly in this rhyme,
What, and wherever you may be,
_Beata mea Domina!_
To kneel before her; as for me,
I choke and grow quite faint to see
My lady moving graciously.
_Beata mea Domina!_
SUMMER DAWN
Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips;
Think but one thought of me up in the stars.
The summer night waneth, the morning light slips,
Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the
cloud-bars,
That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:
Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold
Waits to float through them along with the sun.
Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,
The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold
The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;
They pray the long gloom through for daylight new born,
Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.
Speak but one word to me over the corn,
Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
IN PRISON
Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind's song,
Bending the banner-poles.
While, all alone,
Watching the loophole's spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square letter'd
With prison'd men's groan.
Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind's song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.
THE END
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
Edinburgh & London
Transcriber's Note
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without
note, whilst archaic spellings have been retained.
Many single- and double-quotation marks were omitted in the original
publication. Logical corrections, made from this text alone, would
only compound any discrepancies and therefore such punctuation
remains as printed.