Chapter II: Part 2

O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me, That I thy glittering ford no more can see Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?

See, in the rain she stands, and, looking down With frightened eyes upon thy whirlpools brown, Drops to her feet again her girded gown. O hurrying turbid stream, what hast thou done?

_The Maidens_.

The clouds lift, telling of a happier day When through the thin stream I shall take my way, Girt round with gold, and garlanded with may, What rushing stream can keep us long alone?

_The Youths_.

O burning Sun, O master of unrest, Why must we, toiling, cast away the best, Now, when the bird sleeps by her empty nest?

See, with my garland lying at her feet, In lonely labour stands mine own, my sweet, Above the quern half-filled with half-ground wheat. O red taskmaster, that thy flames were done!

_The Maidens_.

O love, to-night across the half-shorn plain Shall I not go to meet the yellow wain, A look of love at end of toil to gain? What flaming sun can keep us long alone?

_The Youths_.

To-morrow, said I, is grape gathering o'er; To-morrow, and our loves are twinned no more To-morrow came, to bring us woe and war.

What have I done, that I should stand with these Hearkening the dread shouts borne upon the breeze, While she, far off, sits weeping 'neath her trees? Alas, O kings, what is it ye have done?

_The Maidens_.

Come, love, delay not; come, and slay my dread! Already is the banquet table spread; In the cool chamber flower-strewn is my bed: Come, love, what king shall keep us long alone?

_The Youths_.

O city, city, open thou thy gate! See, with life snatched from out the hand of fate! How on thy glittering triumph I must wait!

Are not her hands stretched out to me? Her eyes, Grow they not weary as each new hope dies, And lone before her still the long road lies? O golden city, fain would I be gone!

_The Maidens_.

And thou art happy, amid shouts and songs, And all that unto conquering men belongs. Night hath no fear for me, and day no wrongs. What brazen city gates can keep us, lone?

_The Youths_.

O long, long road, how bare thou art, and grey! Hill after hill thou climbest, and the day Is ended now, O moonlit endless way!

And she is standing where the rushes grow, And still with white hand shades her anxious brow, Though 'neath the world the sun is fallen now, O dreary road, when will thy leagues be done?

_The Maidens_.

O tremblest thou, grey road, or do my feet Tremble with joy, thy flinty face to meet? Because my love's eyes soon mine eyes shall greet? No heart thou hast to keep us long alone.

_The Youths_.

O wilt thou ne'er depart, thou heavy night? When will thy slaying bring on the morning bright, That leads my weary feet to my delight?

Why lingerest thou, filling with wandering fears My lone love's tired heart; her eyes with tears For thoughts like sorrow for the vanished years? Weaver of ill thoughts, when wilt thou be gone?

_The Maidens_.

Love, to the east are thine eyes turned as mine, In patient watching for the night's decline? And hast thou noted this grey widening line? Can any darkness keep us long alone?

_The Youth_.

O day, O day, is it a little thing That thou so long unto thy life must cling, Because I gave thee such a welcoming?

I called thee king of all felicity, I praised thee that thou broughtest joy so nigh; Thine hours are turned to years, thou wilt not die; O day so longed for, would that thou wert gone!

_The Maidens_.

The light fails, love; the long day soon shall be Nought but a pensive happy memory Blessed for the tales it told to thee and me. How hard it was, O love, to be alone.

LOVE FULFILLED.

Hast thou longed through weary days For the sight of one loved face? Mast thou cried aloud for rest, Mid the pain of sundering hours; Cried aloud for sleep and death, Since the sweet unhoped for best Was a shadow and a breath? O, long now, for no fear lowers O'er these faint feet-kissing flowers. O, rest now; and yet in sleep All thy longing shalt thou keep.

Thou shalt rest and have no fear Of a dull awaking near, Of a life for ever blind, Uncontent and waste and wide. Thou shalt wake and think it sweet That thy love is near and kind. Sweeter still for lips to meet; Sweetest that thine heart doth hide Longing all unsatisfied With all longing's answering Howsoever close ye cling.

Thou rememberest how of old E'en thy very pain grew cold, How thou might'st not measure bliss E'en when eyes and hands drew nigh. Thou rememberest all regret For the scarce remembered kiss, The lost dream of how they met, Mouths once parched with misery. Then seemed Love born but to die, Now unrest, pain, bliss are one, Love, unhidden and alone.

THE KING OF DENMARK'S SONS.

In Denmark gone is many a year, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_, Two sons of Gorm the King there were, _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

Both these were gotten in lawful bed Of Thyrre Denmark's Surety-head.

Fair was Knut of face and limb As the breast of the Queen that suckled him.

But Harald was hot of hand and heart As lips of lovers ere they part.

Knut sat at home in all men's love, But over the seas must Harald rove.

And for every deed by Harald won, Gorm laid more love on Knut alone.

On a high-tide spake the King in hall, "Old I grow as the leaves that fall.

"Knut shall reign when I am dead, So shall the land have peace and aid.

"But many a ship shall Harald have, For I deem the sea well wrought for his grave."

Then none spake save the King again, "If Knut die all my days be vain.

"And whoso the tale of his death shall tell, Hath spoken a word to gain him hell.

"Lo here a doom I will not break," _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_. "For life or death or any man's sake," _So grey is the sea when the day is done_.

* * * * *

O merry days in the summer-tide! _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_.

When the ships sail fair and the young men ride. _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

Now Harald has got him east away, And each morrow of fight was a gainful day.

But Knut is to his fosterer gone To deal in deeds of peace alone.

So wear the days, and well it is Such lovely lords should dwell in bliss.

O merry in the winter-tide When men to Yule-feast wend them wide.

And here lieth Knut in the Lima-firth When the lift is low o'er the Danish earth.

"Tell me now, Shipmaster mine, What are yon torches there that shine?"

"Lord, no torches may these be But golden prows across the sea.

"For over there the sun shines now And the gold worms gape from every prow."

The sun and the wind came down o'er the sea, "Tell them over how many they be!"

"Ten I tell with shield-hung sides. Nought but a fool his death abides."

"Ten thou tellest, and we be three, Good need that we do manfully.

"Good fellows, grip the shield and spear, For Harald my brother draweth near.

"Well breakfast we when night is done, And Valhall's cock crows up the sun."

Up spoke Harald in wrathful case: "I would have word with this waxen face!

"What wilt thou pay, thou hucksterer, That I let thee live another year?

"For oath that thou wilt never reign Will I let thee live a year or twain."

"Kisses and love shalt thou have of me If yet my liegeman thou wilt be.

"But stroke of sword, and dint of axe, Or ere thou makest my face as wax."

As thick the arrows fell around As fall sere leaves on autumn ground.

In many a cheek the red did wane No maid might ever kiss again.

"Lay me aboard," Lord Harald said, "The winter day will soon be dead!

"Lay me aboard the bastard's ship, And see to it lest your grapnels slip!"

Then some they knelt and some they drowned, And some lay dead Lord Knut around.

"Look here at the wax-white corpse of him, As fair as the Queen in face and limb!

"Make now for the shore, for the moon is bright, And I would be home ere the end of night.

"Two sons last night had Thyrre the Queen, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_. And both she may lack ere the woods wax green," _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

* * * * *

A little before the morning tide, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_, Queen Thyrre looked out of her window-side, _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

"O men-at-arms, what men be ye?" "Harald thy son come over the sea."

"Why is thy face so pale, my son?" "It may be red or day is done."

"O evil words of an evil hour! Come, sweet son, to thy mother's bower!"

None from the Queen's bower went that day Till dark night over the meadows lay.

None thenceforth heard wail or cry Till the King's feast was waxen high.

Then into the hall Lord Harald came When the great wax lights were all aflame.

"What tidings, son, dost thou bear to me? Speak out before I drink with thee."

"Tidings small for a seafarer. Two falcons in the sea-cliff's were;

"And one was white and one was grey And they fell to battle on a day;

"They fought in the sun, they fought in the wind, No boot the white fowl's wounds to bind.

"They fought in the wind, they fought in the sun, And the white fowl died when the play was done."

"Small tidings these to bear o'er the sea! Good hap that nothing worser they be!

"Small tidings for a travelled man! Drink with me, son, whiles yet ye can!

"Drink with me ere thy day and mine, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_, Be nought but a tale told over the wine." _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

Now fareth the King with his men to sleep, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_, And dim the maids from the Queen's bower creep, _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

And in the hall is little light, And there standeth the Queen with cheeks full white.

And soft the feet of women fall From end to end of the King's great hall.

These bear the gold-wrought cloths away, And in other wise the hall array;

Till all is black that hath been gold So heavy a tale there must be told.

The morrow men looked on King Gorm and said "Hath he dreamed a dream or beheld the dead?

"Why is he sad who should be gay? Why are the old man's lips so grey?"

Slow paced the King adown the hall, Nor looked aside to either wall,

Till in high-seat there he sat him down, And deadly old men deemed him grown.

"O Queen, what thrall's hands durst do this, To strip my hall of mirth and bliss?"

"No thrall's hands in the hangings were, No thrall's hands made the tenters bare.

"King's daughters' hands have done the deed, The hands of Denmark's Surety-head."

"Nought betters the deed thy word unsaid. Tell me that Knut my son is dead!"

She said: "The doom on thee, O King! For thine own lips have said the thing."

Men looked to see the King arise, The death of men within his eyes.

Men looked to see his bitter sword That once cleared ships from board to board.

But in the hall no sword gleamed wide, His hand fell down along his side.

No red there came into his cheek, He fell aback as one made weak.

His wan cheek brushed the high-seat's side, And in the noon of day he died.

So lieth King Gorm beneath the grass, But from mouth to mouth this tale did pass.

And Harald reigned and went his way, _So fair upriseth the rim of the sun_. And still is the story told to-day, _So grey is the sea when day is done_.

ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS.

_Puellae_.

Whence comest thou, and whither goest thou? Abide! abide! longer the shadows grow; What hopest thou the dark to thee will show?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Why should I name the land across the sea Wherein I first took hold on misery? Why should I name the land that flees from me?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

What wilt thou do within the desert place Whereto thou turnest now thy careful face? Stay but a while to tell us of thy case.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

What, nigh the journey's end shall I abide, When in the waste mine own love wanders wide, When from all men for me she still doth hide?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Nay, nay; but rather she forgetteth thee, To sit upon the shore of some warm sea, Or in green gardens where sweet fountains be.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Will ye then keep me from the wilderness, Where I at least, alone with my distress, The quiet land of changing dreams may bless?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Forget the false forgetter and be wise, And 'mid these clinging hands and loving eyes, Dream, not in vain, thou knowest paradise.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Ah! with your sweet eyes shorten not the day, Nor let your gentle hands my journey stay! Perchance love is not wholly cast away.

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Pluck love away as thou wouldst pluck a thorn From out thy flesh; for why shouldst thou be born To bear a life so wasted and forlorn?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Yea, why then was I born, since hope is pain, And life a lingering death, and faith but vain, And love the loss of all I seemed to gain?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Dost thou believe that this shall ever be, That in our land no face thou e'er shalt see, No voice thou e'er shalt hear to gladden thee?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

No longer do I know of good or bad, I have forgotten that I once was glad; I do but chase a dream that I have had.

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Stay! take one image for thy dreamful night; Come, look at her, who in the world's despite Weeps for delaying love and lost delight.

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Mock me not till to-morrow. Mock the dead, They will not heed it, or turn round the head, To note who faithless are, and who are wed.

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

We mock thee not. Hast thou not heard of those Whose faithful love the loved heart holds so close, That death must wait till one word lets it loose?

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

I hear you not: the wind from off the waste Sighs like a song that bids me make good haste The wave of sweet forgetfulness to taste.

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Come back! like such a singer is the wind, As to a sad tune sings fair words and kind, That he with happy tears all eyes may blind!

Abide! abide! for we are happy here.

_Amans_.

Did I not hear her sweet voice cry from far, That o'er the lonely waste fair fields there are, Fair days that know not any change or care?

Let me depart, since ye are happy here.

_Puellae_.

Oh, no! not far thou heardest her, but nigh; Nigh, 'twixt the waste's edge and the darkling sky. Turn back again, too soon it is to die.

Abide! a little while be happy here.

_Amans_.

How with the lapse of lone years could I strive, And can I die now that thou biddest live? What joy this space 'twixt birth and death can give.

Can we depart, who are so happy here?

A GARDEN BY THE SEA.

I know a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.

And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before.

There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the close two fair-streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea: Dark hills whose heath-bloom feeds no bee, Dark shore no ship has ever seen, Tormented by the billows green Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry.

For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, Whereby I grow both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek.

Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face, Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea.

MOTHER AND SON.

Now sleeps the land of houses, and dead night holds the street, And there thou liest, my baby, and sleepest soft and sweet; My man is away for awhile, but safe and alone we lie, And none heareth thy breath but thy mother, and the moon looking down from the sky On the weary waste of the town, as it looked on the grass-edged road Still warm with yesterday's sun, when I left my old abode; Hand in hand with my love, that night of all nights in the year; When the river of love o'erflowed and drowned all doubt and fear, And we two were alone in the world, and once if never again, We knew of the secret of earth and the tale of its labour and pain.

Lo amidst London I lift thee, and how little and light thou art, And thou without hope or fear thou fear and hope of my heart! Lo here thy body beginning, O son, and thy soul and thy life; But how will it be if thou livest, and enterest into the strife, And in love we dwell together when the man is grown in thee, When thy sweet speech I shall hearken, and yet 'twixt thee and me Shall rise that wall of distance, that round each one doth grow, And maketh it hard and bitter each other's thought to know.

Now, therefore, while yet thou art little and hast no thought of thine own, I will tell thee a word of the world; of the hope whence thou hast grown; Of the love that once begat thee, of the sorrow that hath made Thy little heart of hunger, and thy hands on my bosom laid. Then mayst thou remember hereafter, as whiles when people say All this hath happened before in the life of another day; So mayst thou dimly remember this tale of thy mother's voice, As oft in the calm of dawning I have heard the birds rejoice, As oft I have heard the storm-wind go moaning through the wood; And I knew that earth was speaking, and the mother's voice was good.

Now, to thee alone will I tell it that thy mother's body is fair, In the guise of the country maidens Who play with the sun and the air; Who have stood in the row of the reapers in the August afternoon, Who have sat by the frozen water in the high day of the moon, When the lights of the Christmas feasting were dead in the house on the hill, And the wild geese gone to the salt-marsh had left the winter still. Yea, I am fair, my firstling; if thou couldst but remember me! The hair that thy small hand clutcheth is a goodly sight to see; I am true, but my face is a snare; soft and deep are my eyes, And they seem for men's beguiling fulfilled with the dreams of the wise. Kind are my lips, and they look as though my soul had learned Deep things I have never heard of, my face and my hands are burned By the lovely sun of the acres; three months of London town And thy birth-bed have bleached them indeed, "But lo, where the edge of the gown" (So said thy father) "is parting the wrist that is white as the curd From the brown of the hand that I love, bright as the wing of a bird."

Such is thy mother, O firstling, yet strong as the maidens of old, Whose spears and whose swords were the warders of homestead, of field and of fold. Oft were my feet on the highway, often they wearied the grass; From dusk unto dusk of the summer three times in a week would I pass To the downs from the house on the river through the waves of the blossoming corn. Fair then I lay down in the even, and fresh I arose on the morn, And scarce in the noon was I weary. Ah, son, in the days of thy strife, If thy soul could but harbour a dream of the blossom of my life! It would be as the sunlit meadows beheld from a tossing sea, And thy soul should look on a vision of the peace that is to be.

Yet, yet the tears on my cheek! and what is this doth move My heart to thy heart, beloved, save the flood of yearning love? For fair and fierce is thy father, and soft and strange are his eyes That look on the days that shall be with the hope of the brave and the wise. It was many a day that we laughed, as over the meadows we walked, And many a day I hearkened and the pictures came as he talked; It was many a day that we longed, and we lingered late at eve Ere speech from speech was sundered, and my hand his hand could leave. Then I wept when I was alone, and I longed till the daylight came; And down the stairs I stole, and there was our housekeeping dame (No mother of me, the foundling) kindling the fire betimes Ere the haymaking folk went forth to the meadows down by the limes; All things I saw at a glance; the quickening fire-tongues leapt Through the crackling heap of sticks, and the sweet smoke up from it crept, And close to the very hearth the low sun flooded the floor, And the cat and her kittens played in the sun by the open door. The garden was fair in the morning, and there in the road he stood Beyond the crimson daisies and the bush of southernwood. Then side by side together through the grey-walled place we went, And O the fear departed, and the rest and sweet content!

Son, sorrow and wisdom he taught me, and sore I grieved and learned As we twain grew into one; and the heart within me burned With the very hopes of his heart. Ah, son, it is piteous, But never again in my life shall I dare to speak to thee thus; So may these lonely words about thee creep and cling, These words of the lonely night in the days of our wayfaring. Many a child of woman to-night is born in the town, The desert of folly and wrong; and of what and whence are they grown? Many and many an one of wont and use is born; For a husband is taken to bed as a hat or a ribbon is worn. Prudence begets her thousands; "good is a housekeeper's life, So shall I sell my body that I may be matron and wife." "And I shall endure foul wedlock and bear the children of need." Some are there born of hate, many the children of greed. "I, I too can be wedded, though thou my love hast got." "I am fair and hard of heart, and riches shall be my lot." And all these are the good and the happy, on whom the world dawns fair. O son, when wilt thou learn of those that are born of despair, As the fabled mud of the Nile that quickens under the sun With a growth of creeping things, half dead when just begun? E'en such is the care of Nature that man should never die, Though she breed of the fools of the earth, and the dregs of the city sty. But thou, O son, O son, of very love wert born, When our hope fulfilled bred hope, and fear was a folly outworn. On the eve of the toil and the battle all sorrow and grief we weighed, We hoped and we were not ashamed, we knew and we were not afraid.

Now waneth the night and the moon; ah, son, it is piteous That never again in my life shall I dare to speak to thee thus. But sure from the wise and the simple shall the mighty come to birth; And fair were my fate, beloved, if I be yet on the earth When the world is awaken at last, and from mouth to mouth they tell Of thy love and thy deeds and thy valour, and thy hope that nought can quell.

THUNDER IN THE GARDEN.

When the boughs of the garden hang heavy with rain And the blackbird reneweth his song, And the thunder departing yet rolleth again, I remember the ending of wrong.

When the day that was dusk while his death was aloof Is ending wide-gleaming and strange For the clearness of all things beneath the world's roof, I call back the wild chance and the change.

For once we twain sat through the hot afternoon While the rain held aloof for a while, Till she, the soft-clad, for the glory of June Changed all with the change of her smile.

For her smile was of longing, no longer of glee, And her fingers, entwined with mine own, With caresses unquiet sought kindness of me For the gift that I never had known.

Then down rushed the rain, and the voice of the thunder Smote dumb all the sound of the street, And I to myself was grown nought but a wonder, As she leaned down my kisses to meet.

That she craved for my lips that had craved her so often, And the hand that had trembled to touch, That the tears filled her eyes I had hoped not to soften In this world was a marvel too much.

It was dusk 'mid the thunder, dusk e'en as the night, When first brake out our love like the storm, But no night-hour was it, and back came the light While our hands with each other were warm.

And her smile killed with kisses, came back as at first As she rose up and led me along, And out to the garden, where nought was athirst, And the blackbird renewing his song.

Earth's fragrance went with her, as in the wet grass, Her feet little hidden were set; She bent down her head, 'neath the roses to pass, And her arm with the lily was wet.

In the garden we wandered while day waned apace And the thunder was dying aloof; Till the moon o'er the minster-wall lifted his face, And grey gleamed out the lead of the roof.

Then we turned from the blossoms, and cold were they grown: In the trees the wind westering moved; Till over the threshold back fluttered her gown, And in the dark house was I loved.

THE GOD OF THE POOR.

There was a lord that hight Maltete, Among great lords he was right great, On poor folk trod he like the dirt, None but God might do him hurt. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

With a grace of prayers sung loud and late Many a widow's house he ate; Many a poor knight at his hands Lost his house and narrow lands. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

He burnt the harvests many a time, He made fair houses heaps of lime; Whatso man loved wife or maid Of Evil-head was sore afraid. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

He slew good men and spared the bad; Too long a day the foul dog had, E'en as all dogs will have their day; But God is as strong as man, I say. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

For a valiant knight, men called Boncoeur, Had hope he should not long endure, And gathered to him much good folk, Hardy hearts to break the yoke. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

But Boncoeur deemed it would be vain To strive his guarded house to gain; Therefore, within a little while, He set himself to work by guile. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

He knew that Maltete loved right well Red gold and heavy. If from hell The Devil had cried, "Take this gold cup," Down had he gone to fetch it up. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Twenty poor men's lives were nought To him, beside a ring well wrought. The pommel of his hunting-knife Was worth ten times a poor man's life. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

A squire new-come from over-sea Boncoeur called to him privily, And when he knew his lord's intent, Clad like a churl therefrom he went. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

* * * * *

But when he came where dwelt Maltete, With few words did he pass the gate, For Maltete built him walls anew, And, wageless, folk from field he drew. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Now passed the squire through this and that, Till he came to where Sir Maltete sat, And over red wine wagged his beard: Then spoke the squire as one afeard. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Lord, give me grace, for privily I have a little word for thee." "Speak out," said Maltete, "have no fear, For how can thy life to thee be dear?" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Such an one I know," he said, "Who hideth store of money red." Maltete grinned at him cruelly: "Thou florin-maker, come anigh." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"E'en such as thou once preached of gold, And showed me lies in books full old, Nought gat I but evil brass, Therefore came he to the worser pass. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Hast thou will to see his skin? I keep my heaviest marks therein, For since nought else of wealth had he, I deemed full well he owed it me." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Nought know I of philosophy," The other said, "nor do I lie. Before the moon begins to shine, May all this heap of gold be thine." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Ten leagues from this a man there is, Who seemeth to know but little bliss, And yet full many a pound of gold A dry well nigh his house doth hold. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"John-a-Wood is he called, fair lord, Nor know I whence he hath this hoard." Then Maltete said, "As God made me, A wizard over-bold is he!" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"It were a good deed, as I am a knight, To burn him in a fire bright; This John-a-Wood shall surely die, And his gold in my strong chest shall lie. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"This very night, I make mine avow, The truth of this mine eyes shall know." Then spoke an old knight in the hall, "Who knoweth what things may befall?" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"I rede thee go with a great rout, For thy foes they ride thick about." "Thou and the devil may keep my foes, Thou redest me this gold to lose. _Deus est Deus pauperum_."

"I shall go with but some four or five, So shall I take my thief alive. For if a great rout he shall see, Will he not hide his wealth from me?" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

The old knight muttered under his breath, "Then mayhap ye shall but ride to death." But Maltete turned him quickly round, "Bind me this gray-beard under ground! _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Because ye are old, ye think to jape. Take heed, ye shall not long escape. When I come back safe, old carle, perdie, Thine head shall brush the linden-tree." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Therewith he rode with his five men, And Boncoeur's spy, for good leagues ten, Until they left the beaten way, And dusk it grew at end of day. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

There, in a clearing of the wood, Was John's house, neither fair nor good. In a ragged plot his house anigh, Thin coleworts grew but wretchedly. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

* * * * *

John-a-Wood in his doorway sat, Turning over this and that, And chiefly how he best might thrive, For he had will enough to live. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Green coleworts from a wooden bowl He ate; but careful was his soul, For if he saw another day, Thenceforth was he in Boncoeur's pay. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

So when he saw how Maltete came, He said, "Beginneth now the game!" And in the doorway did he stand Trembling, with hand joined fast to hand. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

When Maltete did this carle behold Somewhat he doubted of his gold, But cried out, "Where is now thy store Thou hast through books of wicked lore?" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Then said the poor man, right humbly, "Fair lord, this was not made by me, I found it in mine own dry well, And had a mind thy grace to tell. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Therefrom, my lord, a cup I took This day, that thou thereon mightst look, And know me to be leal and true," And from his coat the cup he drew. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Then Maltete took it in his hand, Nor knew he ought that it used to stand On Boncoeur's cupboard many a day. "Go on," he said, "and show the way. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Give me thy gold, and thou shalt live, Yea, in my house thou well mayst thrive." John turned about and 'gan to go Unto the wood with footsteps slow. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

But as they passed by John's woodstack, Growled Maltete, "Nothing now doth lack Wherewith to light a merry fire, And give my wizard all his hire." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

* * * * *

The western sky was red as blood, Darker grew the oaken-wood; "Thief and carle, where are ye gone? Why are we in the wood alone? _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"What is the sound of this mighty horn? Ah, God! that ever I was born! The basnets flash from tree to tree; Show me, thou Christ, the way to flee!" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Boncoeur it was with fifty men; Maltete was but one to ten, And his own folk prayed for grace, With empty hands in that lone place. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Grace shall ye have," Boncoeur said, "All of you but Evil-head." Lowly could that great lord be, Who could pray so well as he? _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Then could Maltete howl and cry, Little will he had to die. Soft was his speech, now it was late, But who had will to save Maltete? _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

They brought him to the house again, And toward the road he looked in vain. Lonely and bare was the great highway, Under the gathering moonlight grey. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

They took off his gilt basnet, That he should die there was no let; They took off his coat of steel, A damned man he well might feel. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Will ye all be rich as kings, Lacking naught of all good things?" "Nothing do we lack this eve; When thou art dead, how can we grieve?" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

"Let me drink water ere I die, None henceforth comes my lips anigh." They brought it him in that bowl of wood. He said, "This is but poor men's blood!" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

They brought it him in the cup of gold. He said, "The women I have sold Have wept it full of salt for me; I shall die gaping thirstily." _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

On the threshold of that poor homestead They smote off his evil head; They set it high on a great spear, And rode away with merry cheer. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

At the dawn, in lordly state, They rode to Maltete's castle-gate. "Whoso willeth laud to win, Make haste to let your masters in!" _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

Forthwith opened they the gate, No man was sorry for Maltete. Boncoeur conquered all his lands, A good knight was he of his hands. _Dens est Deus pauperum_.

Good men he loved, and hated bad; Joyful days and sweet he had; Good deeds did he plenteously; Beneath him folk lived frank and free. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

He lived long, with merry days; None said aught of him but praise. God on him have full mercy; A good knight merciful was he. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

* * * * *

The great lord, called Maltete, is dead; Grass grows above his feet and head, And a holly-bush grows up between His rib-bones gotten white and clean. _Deus est Deus pauperum_.

A carle's sheep-dog certainly Is a mightier thing than he. Till London-bridge shall cross the Nen, Take we heed of such-like men. _Dens est Deus pauperum_.

LOVE'S REWARD.

It was a knight of the southern land Rode forth upon the way When the birds sang sweet on either hand About the middle of the May.

But when he came to the lily-close, Thereby so fair a maiden stood, That neither the lily nor the rose Seemed any longer fair nor good.

"All hail, thou rose and lily-bough! What dost thou weeping here, For the days of May are sweet enow, And the nights of May are dear?"

"Well may I weep and make my moan, Who am bond and captive here; Well may I weep who lie alone, Though May be waxen dear."

"And is there none shall ransom thee; Mayst thou no borrow find?" "Nay, what man may my borrow be, When all my wealth is left behind?

"Perchance some ring is left with thee, Some belt that did thy body bind?" "Nay, no man may my borrow be, My rings and belt are left behind."

"The shoes that the May-blooms kissed on thee Might yet be things to some men's mind." "Nay, no man may my borrow be, My golden shoes are left behind."

"The milk-white sark that covered thee A dear-bought token some should find." "Nay, no man may my borrow be, My silken sark is left behind."

"The kiss of thy mouth and the love of thee Better than world's wealth should I find." "Nay, thou mayst not my borrow be, For all my love is left behind.

"A year agone come Midsummer-night I woke by the Northern sea; I lay and dreamed of my delight Till love no more would let me be.

"Seaward I went by night and cloud To hear the white swans sing; But though they sang both clear and loud, I hearkened a sweeter thing.

"O sweet and sweet as none may tell Was the speech so close 'twixt lip and lip: But fast, unseen, the black oars fell That drave to shore the rover's ship.

"My love lay bloody on the strand Ere stars were waxen wan: Naught lacketh graves the Northern land If to-day it lack a lovelier man.

"I sat and wept beside the mast When the stars were gone away. Naught lacketh the Northland joy gone past If it lack the night and day."

"Is there no place in any land Where thou wouldst rather be than here?" "Yea, a lone grave on a cold sea-strand My heart for a little holdeth dear."

"Of all the deeds that women do Is there none shall bring thee some delight?" "To lie down and die where lay we two Upon Midsummer night."

"I will bring thee there where thou wouldst be, A borrow shalt thou find." "Wherewith shall I reward it thee For wealth and good-hap left behind?"

"A kiss from lips that love not me, A good-night somewhat kind; A narrow house to share with thee When we leave the world behind."

They have taken ship and sailed away Across the Southland main; They have sailed by hills were green and gay, A land of goods and gain.

They have sailed by sea-cliffs stark and white And hillsides fair enow; They have sailed by lands of little night Where great the groves did grow.

They have sailed by islands in the sea That the clouds lay thick about; And into a main where few ships be Amidst of dread, and doubt.

With broken mast and battered side They drave amidst the tempest's heart; But why should death to these betide Whom love did hold so well apart?

The flood it drave them toward the strand, The ebb it drew them fro; The swallowing seas that tore the land Cast them ashore and let them go.

* * * * *

"Is this the land? is this the land, Where life and I must part a-twain?" "Yea, this is e'en the sea-washed strand That made me yoke-fellow of pain.

"The strand is this, the sea is this, The grey bent and the mountains grey; But no mound here his grave-mound is; Where have they borne my love away?"

"What man is this with shield and spear Comes riding down the bent to us? A goodly man forsooth he were But for his visage piteous."

"Ghost of my love, so kind of yore, Art thou not somewhat gladder grown To feel my feet upon this shore? O love, thou shalt not long be lone."

"Ghost of my love, each day I come To see where God first wrought us wrong: Now kind thou com'st to call me home, Be sure I shall not tarry long."

* * * * *

"Come here, my love; come here for rest, So sore as my body longs for thee! My heart shall beat against thy breast As arms of thine shall comfort me."

"Love, let thy lips depart no more From those same eyes they once did kiss, The very bosom wounded sore When sorrow clave the heart of bliss!"

O was it day, or was it night, As there they told their love again? The high-tide of the sun's delight, Or whirl of wind and drift of rain?

"Speak sweet, my love, of how it fell, And how thou cam'st across the sea, And what kind heart hath served thee well, And who thy borrow there might be?"

Naught but the wind and sea made moan As hastily she turned her round; From light clouds wept the morn alone, Not the dead corpse upon the ground.

"O look, my love, for here is he Who once of all the world was kind, And led my sad heart o'er the sea! And now must he be left behind."

She kissed his lips that yet did smile, She kissed his eyes that were not sad: "O thou who sorrow didst beguile, And now wouldst have me wholly glad!

"A little gift is this," she said, "Thou once hadst deemed great gift enow; Yet surely shalt thou rest thine head Where I one day shall lie alow.

"There shalt thou wake to think of me, And by thy face my face shall find; And I shall then thy borrow be When all the world is left behind."

THE FOLK-MOTE BY THE RIVER.

It was up in the morn we rose betimes From the hall-floor hard by the row of limes.

It was but John the Red and I, And we were the brethren of Gregory;

And Gregory the Wright was one Of the valiant men beneath the sun,

And what he bade us that we did For ne'er he kept his counsel hid.

So out we went, and the clattering latch Woke up the swallows under the thatch.

It was dark in the porch, but our scythes we felt, And thrust the whetstone under the belt.

Through the cold garden boughs we went Where the tumbling roses shed their scent.

Then out a-gates and away we strode O'er the dewy straws on the dusty road,

And there was the mead by the town-reeve's close Where the hedge was sweet with the wilding rose.

Then into the mowing grass we went Ere the very last of the night was spent.

Young was the moon, and he was gone, So we whet our scythes by the stars alone:

But or ever the long blades felt the hay Afar in the East the dawn was grey.

Or ever we struck our earliest stroke The thrush in the hawthorn-bush awoke.

While yet the bloom of the swathe was dim The black-bird's bill had answered him.

Ere half of the road to the river was shorn The sunbeam smote the twisted thorn.

* * * * *

Now wide was the way 'twixt the standing grass For the townsfolk unto the mote to pass,

And so when all our work was done We sat to breakfast in the sun,

While down in the stream the dragon-fly 'Twixt the quivering rushes flickered by;

And though our knives shone sharp and white The swift bleak heeded not the sight.

* * * * *

So when the bread was done away We looked along the new-shorn hay,

And heard the voice of the gathering-horn Come over the garden and the corn;

For the wind was in the blossoming wheat And drave the bees in the lime-boughs sweet.

Then loud was the horn's voice drawing near, And it hid the talk of the prattling weir.

And now was the horn on the pathway wide That we had shorn to the river-side.

So up we stood, and wide around We sheared a space by the Elders' Mound;

And at the feet thereof it was That highest grew the June-tide grass;

And over all the mound it grew With clover blent, and dark of hue.

But never aught of the Elders' Hay To rick or barn was borne away.

But it was bound and burned to ash In the barren close by the reedy plash.

For 'neath that mound the valiant dead Lay hearkening words of valiance said

When wise men stood on the Elders' Mound, And the swords were shining bright around.

* * * * *

And now we saw the banners borne On the first of the way that we had shorn; So we laid the scythe upon the sward And girt us to the battle-sword.

For after the banners well we knew Were the Freemen wending two and two.

There then that high-way of the scythe With many a hue was brave and blythe.

And first below the Silver Chief Upon the green was the golden sheaf.

And on the next that went by it The White Hart in the Park did sit.

Then on the red the White Wings flew, And on the White was the Cloud-fleck blue.

Last went the Anchor of the Wrights Beside the Ship of the Faring-Knights.

Then thronged the folk the June-tide field With naked sword and painted shield,

Till they came adown to the river-side, And there by the mound did they abide.

* * * * *

Now when the swords stood thick and white As the mace reeds stand in the streamless bight,

There rose a man on the mound alone And over his head was the grey mail done.

When over the new-shorn place of the field Was nought but the steel hood and the shield.

The face on the mound shone ruddy and hale, But the hoar hair showed from the hoary mail.

And there rose a hand by the ruddy face And shook a sword o'er the peopled place.

And there came a voice from the mound and said: "O sons, the days of my youth are dead,

And gone are the faces I have known In the street and the booths of the goodly town.

O sons, full many a flock have I seen Feed down this water-girdled green.

Full many a herd of long-horned neat Have I seen 'twixt water-side and wheat.

Here by this water-side full oft Have I heaved the flowery hay aloft.

And oft this water-side anigh Have I bowed adown the wheat-stalks high.

And yet meseems I live and learn And lore of younglings yet must earn.

For tell me, children, whose are these Fair meadows of the June's increase.

Whose are these flocks and whose the neat, And whose the acres of the wheat?"

* * * * *

Scarce did we hear his latest word, On the wide shield so rang the sword.

So rang the sword upon the shield That the lark was hushed above the field.

Then sank the shouts and again we heard The old voice come from the hoary beard:

* * * * *

"Yea, whose are yonder gables then, And whose the holy hearths of men? Whose are the prattling children there, And whose the sunburnt maids and fair?

Whose thralls are ye, hereby that stand, Bearing the freeman's sword in hand?"

As glitters the sun in the rain-washed grass, So in the tossing swords it was;

As the thunder rattles along and adown E'en so was the voice of the weaponed town.

And there was the steel of the old man's sword, And there was his hollow voice, and his word:

"Many men many minds, the old saw saith, Though hereof ye be sure as death.

For what spake the herald yestermorn But this, that ye were thrall-folk born;

That the lord that owneth all and some Would send his men to fetch us home

Betwixt the haysel, and the tide When they shear the corn in the country-side?

O children, Who was the lord? ye say, What prayer to him did our fathers pray.

Did they hold out hands his gyves to bear? Did their knees his high hall's pavement wear?

Is his house built up in heaven aloft? Doth he make the sun rise oft and oft?

Doth he hold the rain in his hollow hand? Hath he cleft this water through the land?

Or doth he stay the summer-tide, And make the winter days abide?

O children, Who is the lord? ye say, Have we heard his name before to-day?

O children, if his name I know, He hight Earl Hugh of the Shivering Low:

For that herald bore on back and breast The Black Burg under the Eagle's Nest."

* * * * *

As the voice of the winter wind that tears At the eaves of the thatch and its emptied ears,

E'en so was the voice of laughter and scorn By the water-side in the mead new-shorn;

And over the garden and the wheat Went the voice of women shrilly-sweet.

* * * * *

But now by the hoary elder stood A carle in raiment red as blood.

Red was his weed and his glaive was white, And there stood Gregory the Wright.

So he spake in a voice was loud and strong: "Young is the day though the road is long;

There is time if we tarry nought at all For the kiss in the porch and the meat in the hall.

And safe shall our maidens sit at home For the foe by the way we wend must come.

Through the three Lavers shall we go And raise them all against the foe.

Then shall we wend the Downland ways, And all the shepherd spearmen raise.

To Cheaping Raynes shall we come adown And gather the bowmen of the town;

And Greenstead next we come unto Wherein are all folk good and true.

When we come our ways to the Outer Wood We shall be an host both great and good;

Yea when we come to the open field There shall be a many under shield.

And maybe Earl Hugh shall lie alow And yet to the house of Heaven shall go.

But we shall dwell in the land we love And grudge no hallow Heaven above.

Come ye, who think the time o'er long Till we have slain the word of wrong!

Come ye who deem the life of fear On this last day hath drawn o'er near!