When in the long-day month, the month of May,
The Franks of France from king's court ride away,
Reynault rides foremost, the first in rank alway.
Passes the tower where Erembours doth stay;
He never deigned to lift his head her way,
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
Fair Erembours, within the window's ray,
Holds on her knees a web of colours gay,
Sees Franks of France from king's court ride away,
Sees Reynault riding the first in rank alway,
Speaketh aloud, on this wise she doth say:
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
Reynault, true love, I have beheld the day
When if my father's castle stood on your way
You had been sad, had I had nought to say.
--Ill hast thou wrought with me, king's daughter, yea,
Hast loved another, cast my love away.
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
Reynault, fair sir, on relics solemnly
I'll swear, before an hundred maidens free
And thirty ladies that I shall bring with me,
I never loved another man save thee;
Take this amends, I'll give thee kisses three.
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
O then Count Reynault up by the stairway ran,
Wide were his shoulders, and small his girdle's span,
His hair close-curled, and very fair to scan,
In all the world is not so fine a man.
Erembours saw him, and so to weep began.
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
Count Reynault mounts into her highest towers
And sets him on a bed of broidered flowers,
And close beside him sits fair Erembours.
Then they take up their loves of former hours.
Ha, Reynault, ha, true love!
_H. SIMPSON_
(_HOME-STUDENT_)
"THERE ARE QUANTITIES OF THINGS..."
There are quantities of things
One would like to be and do
When one's mind unfurls its wings;
Clouds full chase across the blue
All unthinking in their flight;
Overcasting me and you,
Sometimes raining out of spite.
Or perhaps you would prefer
To go coasting through the night
With a flutter and a stir,
Like a nightjar in a wood
Rising softly with a whirr.
Or with cold and scanty blood
Don a fish's suit of scales,
And go oaring through the flood
Under bigger fishes' tails,
Into warm and open sea
While above you blow the gales--
So my mind spins constantly
In unprofitable rings
Almost to infinity--
Such innumerable things
One would like to do and be
When one's thoughts shake out their wings.
_E. E. SMITH_
(_UNIVERSITY_)