'Knights come to court and look at me, With eyebrows up, except my lord, And my dear lady, none I see

That know the ways of my old sword.' (My lady at that word no pang

Stopp'd all my blood.) 'But tell me, John, Is it quite true that pagans hang So thick about the east, that on

True,' I said,

'The eastern sea no Venice flag
Can fly unpaid for ?'
And in such way the miscreants drag
Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread
That Constantine must fall this year.'
Within my heart:These things are small;

This is not small, that things outwear

I thought were made for ever, yea, all,

'All things go soon or late ; ' I said

I saw the duke in court next day; Just as before, his grand great head Above his gold robes dreaming lay,

Only his face was paler; there

I saw his duchess sit by him ;

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20

25

30

And she-she was changed more; her hair. 35 Before my eyes that used to swim,

And make me dizzy with great bliss

Once, when I used to watch her sit

Her hair is bright still, yet it is

As though some dust were thrown on it.

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Her eyes are shallower, as though

Some grey glass were behind; her brow

And cheeks the straining bones show through, Are not so good for kissing now.

Her lips are drier now she is

A great duke's wife these many years, They will not shudder with a kiss

As once they did, being moist with tears.

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Also her hands have lost that way
Of clinging that they used to have;
They look'd quite easy, as they lay
Upon the silken cushions brave
With broidery of the apples green

My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.
Her face, alas! that I have seen
Look fresher than an April field,

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So is she grown now unto me

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This spring-time, when the flowers star
The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.

I warrant once she used to cling

About his neck, and kiss'd him so, And then his coming step would ring Joy-bells for her, some time ago. Ah! sometimes like an idle dream That hinders true life overmuch,

Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem.This love is not so hard to smutch.

388

SHAMEFUL DEATH

W. MORRIS.

There were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,

I and his mother stood at the head
Over his feet lay the bride;

We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.

He did not die in the night,
He did not die in the day,
But in the morning twilight
His spirit pass'd away,

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70

5

10

Q a

When neither sun nor moon was bright,
And the trees were merely grey.

He was not slain with the sword,
Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
Yet spoke he never a word

After he came in here;

I cut away the cord

From the neck of my brother dear.

He did not strike one blow,

For the recreants came benind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,
A path right hard to find,

For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
That the twilight makes it blind.
They lighted a great torch then,
When his arms were pinion'd fast,
Sir John the knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

I am threescore and ten,

And my hair is all turn'd grey,
But I met Sir John of the Fen
Long ago on a summer day,

And am glad to think of the moment when
I took his life away.

I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly pass'd,

But long ago I and my men,

When the sky was overcast,

And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of the fen,

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

And now, knights all of you,
I pray you pray for Sir Hugh,
A good knight and a true,

And for Alice, his wife, pray too.

W. MORRIS.

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389

THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS
Had she come all the way for this,
To part at last without a kiss?
Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
That her own eyes might see him slain
Beside the haystack in the floods?
Along the dripping leafless woods,
The stirrup touching either shoe,
She rode astride as troopers do;
With kirtle kilted to her knee,
To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;
And the wet dripp'd from every tree
Upon her head and heavy hair,

And on her eyelids broad and fair ;
The tears and rain ran down her face.

By fits and starts they rode apace,

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And very often was his place

Ahead, to see what might betide

Far off from her; he had to ride

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When the roads cross'd; and sometimes, when
There rose a murmuring from his men
Had to turn back with promises;
Ah me she had but little ease;

And often for pure doubt and dread
She sobb'd, made giddy in the head
By the swift riding; while, for cold,
Her slender fingers scarce could hold
The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,
She felt the foot within her shoe
Against the stirrup: all for this,

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To part at last without a kiss

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Beside the haystack in the floods.

For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,
They saw across the only way

That Judas, Godmar, and the three

Red running lions dismally

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Grinn'd from his pennon, under which,
In one straight line along the ditch,
They counted thirty heads.

So then,

While Robert turn'd round to his men,
She saw at once the wretched end,
And, stooping down, tried hard to rend
Her coif the wrong way from her head,
And hid her eyes; while Robert said:
'Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one,
At Poictiers where we made them run
So fast-why, sweet my love, good cheer,
The Gascon frontier is so near,

But, 'O,' she said,

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Nought after this.'

'My God! my God! I have to tread

The long way back without you; then

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The court at Paris; those six men ;

The gratings of the Chatelet ;

The swift Seine on some rainy day
Like this, and people standing by,
And laughing, while my weak hands try
To recollect how strong men swim.
All this, or else a life with him,
For which I should be damned at last,

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Would God that this next hour were past!'

He answer'd not, but cried his cry,
'St. George for Marny!' cheerily ;
And laid his hand upon her rein.
Alas! no man of all his train

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Gave back that cheery cry again;

And, while for rage his thumb beat fast
Upon his sword-hilts, some one cast

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About his neck a kerchief long,

And bound him.

Then they went along

To Godmar; who said: "Now, Jehane,

Your lover's life is on the wane

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