The Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems Part 11

Almost alone, There in the base-court fought he with his sword, Using his left hand much, more than the wont Of most knights now-a-days; our men gave back, For wheresoever he hit a downright blow, Some one fell bleeding, for no plate could hold Against the sway of body and great arm; Till he grew tired, and some man (no! not I, I swear not I, fair lady, as I live!) Thrust at him with a glaive between the knees, And threw him; down he fell, sword undermost; Many fell on him, crying out their cries, Tore his sword from him, tore his helm off, and:

ALICE.

Yea, slew him: I am much too young to live, Fair G.o.d, so let me die!

You have done well, Done all your message gently, pray you go, Our knights will make you cheer; moreover, take This bag of franks for your expenses.

[_The Squire kneels._ But You do not go; still looking at my face, You kneel! what, squire, do you mock me then?

You need not tell me who has set you on, But tell me only, 'tis a made-up tale.

You are some lover may-be or his friend; Sir, if you loved me once, or your friend loved, Think, is it not enough that I kneel down And kiss your feet? your jest will be right good If you give in now; carry it too far, And 'twill be cruel: not yet? but you weep Almost, as though you loved me; love me then, And go to Heaven by telling all your sport, And I will kiss you then with all my heart, Upon the mouth: O! what can I do then To move you?

SQUIRE.

Lady fair, forgive me still!

You know I am so sorry, but my tale Is not yet finish'd: So they bound his hands, And brought him tall and pale to Guesclin's tent, Who, seeing him, leant his head upon his hand, And ponder'd somewhile, afterwards, looking up: Fair dame, what shall I say?

ALICE.

Yea, I know now, Good squire, you may go now with my thanks.

SQUIRE.

Yet, lady, for your own sake I say this, Yea, for my own sake, too, and Clisson's sake.

When Guesclin told him he must be hanged soon, Within a while he lifted up his head And spoke for his own life; not crouching, though, As abjectly afraid to die, nor yet Sullenly brave as many a thief will die, Nor yet as one that plays at j.a.pes with G.o.d: Few words he spoke; not so much what he said Moved us, I think, as, saying it, there played Strange tenderness from that big soldier there About his pleading; eagerness to live Because folk loved him, and he loved them back, And many gallant plans unfinish'd now For ever. Clisson's heart, which may G.o.d bless!

Was moved to pray for him, but all in vain; Wherefore I bring this message: That he waits, Still loving you, within the little church Whose windows, with the one eye of the light Over the altar, every night behold The great dim broken walls he strove to keep!

There my Lord Clisson did his burial well.

Now, lady, I will go: G.o.d give you rest!

ALICE.

Thank Clisson from me, squire, and farewell!

And now to keep myself from going mad.

Christ! I have been a many times to church, And, ever since my mother taught me prayers, Have used them daily, but to-day I wish To pray another way; come face to face, O Christ, that I may clasp your knees and pray I know not what; at any rate come now From one of many places where you are, Either in Heaven amid thick angel wings, Or sitting on the altar strange with gems, Or high up in the duskness of the apse; Let us go, You and I, a long way off, To the little damp, dark, Poitevin church.

While you sit on the coffin in the dark, Will I lie down, my face on the bare stone Between your feet, and chatter anything I have heard long ago. What matters it So I may keep you there, your solemn face And long hair even-flowing on each side, Until you love me well enough to speak, And give me comfort? yea, till o'er your chin, And cloven red beard the great tears roll down In pity for my misery, and I die, Kissed over by you.

Eh Guesclin! if I were Like Countess Mountfort now, that kiss'd the knight, Across the salt sea come to fight for her: Ah! just to go about with many knights, Wherever you went, and somehow on one day, In a thick wood to catch you off your guard, Let you find, you and your some fifty friends, Nothing but arrows wheresoe'er you turn'd, Yea, and red crosses, great spears over them; And so, between a lane of my true men, To walk up pale and stern and tall, and with My arms on my surcoat, and his therewith, And then to make you kneel, O knight Guesclin; And then: alas! alas! when all is said, What could I do but let you go again, Being pitiful woman? I get no revenge, Whatever happens; and I get no comfort: I am but weak, and cannot move my feet, But as men bid me.

Strange I do not die.

Suppose this has not happen'd after all?

I will lean out again and watch for news.

I wonder how long I can still feel thus, As though I watch'd for news, feel as I did Just half-an-hour ago, before this news.

How all the street is humming, some men sing, And some men talk; some look up at the house, Then lay their heads together and look grave: Their laughter pains me sorely in the heart; Their thoughtful talking makes my head turn round: Yea, some men sing, what is it then they sing?

Eh? Launcelot, and love and fate and death: They ought to sing of him who was as wight As Launcelot or Wade, and yet avail'd Just nothing, but to fail and fail and fail, And so at last to die and leave me here, Alone and wretched; yea, perhaps they will, When many years are past, make songs of us: G.o.d help me, though, truly I never thought That I should make a story in this way, A story that his eyes can never see.

[_One sings from outside._]

_Therefore be it believed Whatsoever he grieved, When his horse was relieved, This Launcelot,_

_Beat down on his knee, Right valiant was he G.o.d's body to see, Though he saw it not._

_Right valiant to move, But for his sad love The high G.o.d above Stinted his praise._

_Yet so he was glad That his son, Lord Galahad, That high joyaunce had All his life-days._

_Sing we therefore then Launcelot's praise again, For he wan crownes ten, If he wan not twelve._

_To his death from his birth He was mickle of worth, Lay him in the cold earth, A long grave ye may delve._

_Omnes homines benedicite!

This last fitte ye may see, All men pray for me Who made this history Cunning and fairly._

RAPUNZEL

RAPUNZEL

THE PRINCE, _being in the wood near the tower, in the evening_.

I could not even think What made me weep that day, When out of the council-hall The courtiers pa.s.s'd away,--

THE WITCH.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!

RAPUNZEL.

Is it not true that every day She climbeth up the same strange way, Her scarlet cloak spread broad and gay, Over my golden hair?

THE PRINCE.

And left me there alone, To think on what they said: 'Thou art a king's own son, 'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'

THE WITCH.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!

RAPUNZEL.

When I undo the knotted ma.s.s, Fathoms below the shadows pa.s.s Over my hair along the gra.s.s.

O my golden hair!

THE PRINCE.

I put my armour on, Thinking on what they said: 'Thou art a king's own son, 'Tis fit that thou should'st wed.'