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THE ROMANCE OF RAHERE, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF RAHERE, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD HARDINGHAM 
 
 1 But, for the unquiet heart and brain 
 A use in measured language lies ; 
 The sad mechanic exercise, 
 Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.' 
 
 TENNYSON In Memoriam. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.G. 
 1896. 
 
Co 
 W. R. MILLAR, ESQ., 
 
 MY OLD SCHOOLFELLOW AND LIFE-LONG FRIEND, 
 
 # offer this little Morfc, 
 
 IN LOVING RECOGNITION OF MANY 
 KINDNESSES. 
 
 January, 1896. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ALICE . ... I 
 
 SCORN . . . . .3 
 
 THE QUESTION . . . . .6 
 
 PERDIDI DIEM ! . . . . 1 6 
 
 ST. MARK'S EVE . . . . .18 
 
 THE WISH . . . . . -37 
 
 WINTER-EVE -. . . . . 38 
 
 LILIAN LANE . . . . .40 
 
 PLEASURES . . . . . -67 
 
 REVERIE . . . . . .68 
 
 THE NAIL . . . __j_ _*. 72 
 
 BALLAD ...... 106 
 
 RAHERE ...... 107 
 
ALICE. 
 
 As it fell upon a day, 
 
 I my thirst was slaking 
 At a brook beside the way, 
 
 Leafy chalice making. 
 
 Came a maiden wondrous fair 
 Oh, my heart 'gan leaping ! 
 
 Eyes of azure, golden hair, 
 Feet like fairy's peeping. 
 
 ' May I drink, good sir ?' she said, 
 
 Oh, so sweetly smiling ! 
 While she bent her pretty head, 
 
 All my heart beguiling. 
 
 1 First the fee !' I foolish cried, 
 And the cup withholding ; 
 
 ' Just a kiss.' She, blushing, sighed : 
 ' Not for thirst or scolding.' 
 
 i 
 
A lice. 
 
 Swiftly now the cup I lift, 
 
 Meek repentance showing : 
 ' Drink, sweet girl ! Not mine the gift ; 
 
 Tis Nature's own bestowing.' 
 
 Fearless now she drank, while I 
 
 Draught of lover madness 
 Drank from blush and smile and sigh 
 
 Of her grateful gladness. 
 
 Laughing now, she archly said, 
 
 Void of fear or malice : 
 ' Sir, the brook was Nature's aid, 
 
 Yours the pretty chalice.' 
 
 'Keep it, then, fair maid,' I sighed, 
 ' With my heart to crown it.' 
 
 ' Shalt not covet,' she replied ; 
 ' Other maid may own it.' 
 
 ' No ; not so,' I cried in haste ; 
 
 ' Love I scorned till lately.' 
 Rosy red, as Dian chaste, 
 
 Stood she proud and stately. 
 
 ' By the brook we both have drank 
 
 Will you love me ever ?' 
 On my knee I eager sank, 
 
 ' Sweet, till death shall sever.' 
 
A lice. 
 
 At the brook beside the way 
 
 We our thirst a-slaking, 
 Deeper thirst we took that day, 
 
 Lover pain and aching. 
 
 But the bells at break of morn 
 Ring not long thereafter ; 
 
 Merry girls a bride adorn ; 
 Shakes the roof with laughter. 
 
 Fairer bride ne'er gladdened sight ; 
 
 Lovelier maiden never, 
 Bridal-robed, as angel bright, 
 
 Plighted troth for ever. 
 
 Safely kept in frame of gold 
 
 Lies the leafy chalice ; 
 Round its rim in letters bold 
 
 Set the name of Alice. 
 
 SCORN. 
 
 COME, Ella ! the tyrannous town 
 
 Forsake, with its madness. Once more, 
 By river and upland and down, 
 
 Come wander, as often of yore. 
 For, hateful, the city has soiled 
 
 Our spirits, till, sordid and cold, 
 Of Godhood and manhood despoiled, 
 
 They reck but of Mammon and gold. 
 
Scorn. 
 
 Ah, curse on the dross that can mar 
 
 God's image, so fair in its birth ! 
 The spirit nor planet nor star 
 
 Nor system can fetter to earth. 
 That love should die out of our hearts 
 
 Poor shadows, whose passing's a span 
 And hell pride that lucre imparts 
 
 Make man but the tyrant of man ! 
 
 That the poor should be huddled as sheep 
 
 In dens that a savage would scorn, 
 Whtre rotting and dying they weep 
 
 Ah, God, that we ever were born ! 
 While the cry of the orphan goes up 
 
 With the wail of the widow and maid ; 
 Of greed and oppression the cup 
 
 We drain, Lord, with none to our aid. 
 
 Yet the rich they grow richer each day, 
 
 While the famished must pilfer to feed, 
 And the cot of the peasant make way 
 
 For the palace expanding of greed. 
 And the grain, the good gift of the God 
 
 Who, overlong patient, restrains 
 His wrath, is bought up by the clod, 
 
 Who, rich, must redouble his gains. 
 
 No matter that mothers must know 
 
 The hunger-fiend pinching their breast; 
 
 No matter that little ones go 
 
 A-hungered and weeping to rest ; 
 
Scorn. 
 
 No matter that fathers behold, 
 
 Slow murdered, their offspring decay ; 
 
 No matter ! the demon of gold 
 
 Unhinder'd must ride on his way 
 
 Must ride on his way till the end 
 
 Is reached in rebellion and war ; 
 Till hunger and misery blend 
 
 Their forces with mercy afar ; 
 Till cities are reeking with blood, 
 
 And red with the havoc of hate, 
 That, age-long repressed, like a flood 
 
 Bursts forth, unrelentless as Fate 
 
 Bursts forth to avenge and requite. 
 
 Woe, woe ! to the sowing that leads 
 To harvest of horror the night 
 
 Of Gomorrah o'erhanging your heads, 
 Ye rich, that the labourer's pay 
 
 Begrudge, with the bread that in haste 
 He eats, lest a little less gay 
 
 Ye go in your pride and your waste ! 
 
 Away, then ! By river and wood, 
 
 In the shade of the welcoming trees, 
 The mighty All-giver of good 
 
 Shall whisper in brooklet and breeze 
 His peace to the spirits that mourn, 
 
 As likest and nearest Himself, 
 The gold-greed accurst in His scorn, 
 
 With worship of Mammon and pelf. 
 
THE QUESTION. 
 
 A TALE OF THE PLAGUE AT HAARLEM. 
 
 SPRING'S flower-enamelled sceptre 
 
 Assumed again, the land, 
 Delighted, wakes, and Winter, 
 
 Withdrawing rigorous band, 
 Winds softly blow, while sunshine 
 
 Fills all the leafing wood. 
 Flowers spring ; birds sing and flitter, 
 
 A careless, joyous brood. 
 
 The grass is pearled with daisies, 
 
 Each bank with violets sweet ; 
 The moss gold fringed, most tempting 
 
 The heather's yielding seat. 
 But, ah ! of all the sweetest 
 
 My lady, graceful laid 
 Beside the hurrying brooklet, 
 
 Beneath the hornbeam's shade. 
 
 There lies she, thoughtful, dreaming ; 
 
 Her maiden fancies stray, 
 As pure as beam at dawning, 
 
 Or dying even-ray. 
 
The Question. 
 
 Her sweet, sweet face is hidden, 
 
 Her tresses falling low 
 Rich cloud of silken sunlight 
 
 O'er brow as white as snow. 
 
 She wakes from dreams, and parting 
 
 The hair-cloud from her face, 
 She smiles, and, smiling, beckons : 
 
 My heart beats fever-pace. 
 ' Come hither, sirrah, hither ! 
 
 Sir Poet, skilled of song ! 
 Resolve the doubt that holds me 
 
 Has held me oft and long.' 
 
 I go, the spell of beauty 
 
 My being thrilling through. 
 ' So well ! Now sit beside me, 
 
 And tell me, is it true 
 That woman's love, if milder, 
 
 Is firm as Atlas range ? 
 Man's, summer hot, commingled 
 
 With thunder-cloud and change ?' 
 
 ' Nay, tell me first,' I answer, 
 
 With lover-fire and thrill, 
 Her look so soft and wistful 
 
 Enthralling mind and will 
 ' Say, first, what love you bear me, 
 
 Then I can truly say, 
 Thrice that I love, and ever 
 
 The more from day to day. 
 
8 The Question. 
 
 ' Dost smile, my queen ? Then listen 
 
 A tale I read of late, 
 Of noblest self-devotion 
 
 To death for love's own sake. 
 The book lies in my bosom ; 
 
 Shalt hear how men can die 
 At call of love, and dying, 
 
 Deem death but ecstasy.' 
 
 Then I took the book from my breast, and read 
 To my love in the woodland hollow 
 
 A tale of the brave and the faithful dead 
 Such faith would that all could follow ! 
 
 On Haarlem town the sun shone brightly down 
 Old Haarlem loved of labour and of art ; 
 Mother of sons as brave as they that fought 
 The Persian host at Pylse. Glorious band 
 Of heroes, stubborn as the craggy pass, 
 They, dauntless, held against the millioned foe, 
 And, dead, yet held, a bleeding rampart heaped 
 Of sympathetic Death, so they might win 
 Their motherland a breathing-space for hope, 
 And gathering swift of all her warrior sons. 
 
 Such Haarlem's sons in fight ; nor famous less 
 In time of peace. Fit consorts they of dames 
 And daughters fair as they that drew of old 
 Impassioned suitors out their paradise. 
 Of them, perchance, she sprang, sweet girl who sat 
 Within the Bloemen Tuin all ablaze 
 
The Question. 
 
 With glow of hyacinth close set, and gleam 
 
 Of tulips many-hued, and chaliced snow 
 
 Of Narcisse crimson-lipped what flower more fair 
 
 In bloom-strewed Eden ? Oh, that when I die 
 
 These wave above the grassy plat that keeps 
 
 My restful soul awhile ! So shall I dream 
 
 Again the dreams that flushed me when a boy, 
 
 Of wood and field, and babbling brook, and shade 
 
 Of forest giant, and the cuckoo note, 
 
 Now near, now far, like restless spirit lost 
 
 In depths of lacing boughs and ferny weed. 
 
 Within the garden sat the maid, her locks 
 Of sunny gold about her swelling breast 
 Swelling with fancies sweet, of love and him 
 Who sat beside her drinking draughts of love 
 From out the limpid springs of her bright eyes 
 Cerulean wells as clear and fair as e'er 
 Refreshed the bents on Ida's fertile hill. 
 
 Anon the maiden sighed. ' Cornelius, why 
 
 Such greed of fame ? What is't but praise of them, 
 
 Maybe, that scorned thee living, or of them 
 
 That come long after, when the soul released 
 
 From earth nor heeds nor cares what mortal tongue 
 
 Bestows of praise or censure ? Better far 
 
 Enjoy the day. Am I not rich is not 
 
 Our troth firm pledged ? Ah, what were fame to me 
 
 Despoiled of love and lover ?' Sudden now 
 
 Her tender eyes grew dim wfth veil of tears ; 
 
 Her boddiced bosom heaved ; her little hand 
 
 Sought his with wistful pressure. 
 
io The Question. 
 
 To his lips 
 
 He raised it swift, then mild remonstrance made : 
 ' Nay, Elsie nay, dear love ! 't is love alone 
 That bids me follow fame and win renown. 
 Naught have I now to lay at beauty's feet 
 But love for love, and fame for burgher wealth. 
 The first, long since I gave ; the last shall come 
 Wilt see my work ? Enough is done to show 
 True artist and the master-skill that turns 
 Wise magic far beyond mere wizard craft 
 Dull wood and canvas into flush of life. 
 Van Ostade praises, brave Ruysdaal, too, 
 My master friend. Come, Elsie, see the work ! 
 'Tis Moses lifting up the brassy snake 
 'Mid crowd of plague-struck Hebrews !' 
 
 Elsie here 
 
 Grew pale, and trembling laid her pretty head 
 Upon her lover's arm. ' How couldst thou choose 
 Such woeful subject ? Even now 'tis said 
 The plague-fiend stalks unlet through Amsterdam, 
 And threats our gates. Pray God no prophet seer 
 Be needed here to save a stricken folk ! 
 Yet 't was foretold. But Catherine hither now 
 Is come to bid me homeward. Dear one, pray 
 No evil light on either ! All night long 
 I'll pray for thee that never plague may dog 
 Thy harmless footsteps. Kiss me and farewell !' 
 
 That night the horror o'erleaped Haarlem's wall, 
 And raged like tigress 'venging slaughtered whelps. 
 A day ! and terror blanched each civic cheek. 
 
The Question. u 
 
 A week ! and wailing filled both cot and hall, 
 The city one vast lazar-house, and heaped 
 With loathsome victims. 
 
 Hapless, Elsie now 
 
 Was smitten. What, to Death, her beauty rare, 
 Her virtue, or the fond parental care 
 That sought to shield her e'en from taint of ill? 
 The fiend was in the air. The very buds 
 And blossoms in the lonely Turn felt 
 Its curse, and, sickening, drooped their heads and died. 
 A gloom hung over all. The sun, as sad 
 At sight of suffering all beyond relief, 
 Withheld its light ; the moist earth reeked ; the breeze 
 Kept off; no bird flew o'er the dying town, 
 Or beat its wing around Saint Bavon's spire. 
 Each thing that could forsook the fatal walls 
 Of Haarlem, yielded up to woe and death. 
 
 Of Elsie, hopeless smitten, ere the noon 
 
 Cornelius heard, as, mahl in hand, he stood 
 
 Before the growing offspring of his skill, 
 
 And, groaning, let his brush and palette fall. 
 
 Upon the wall was pendent crucifix, 
 
 Which, hasty snatched, he pressed against his lips. 
 
 ' O Christ, whose pangs redeemed a God-doomed world, 
 
 Wilt Thou not save? Have mercy, mighty Lord, 
 
 Or let me share the ill Thou canst not heal.' 
 
 So prayed he madly. Then his fevered gaze 
 Fell on the picture. ' Dream of fame, farewell ! 
 Full sure suggested by some voice of hell. 
 
12 The Question. 
 
 My Elsie dead, nor brush nor pigment more 
 I touch, but gladly share her virgin tomb.' 
 
 Not meant the deed, but in his frenzied clasp 
 
 The image broke. He saw it with dismay 
 
 At first, then laughed as madmen laugh, and cried : 
 
 ' And men can pray to thee, and kiss the limbs ; 
 
 A ruder touch than common thus can mar ! 
 
 Prayer ! What is prayer ? Did prayer keep out our 
 
 walls 
 
 The bloody Spaniard when we fought for faith, 
 With honour of our mothers, sisters, wives, 
 And all things counted holy ? Can it snatch 
 One victim out the pest-fiend's ravenous maw, 
 Or save a harmless maid one torturous pang ? 
 To demon will the world is given o'er, 
 And hellish powers that sport and play with men, 
 Flesh puppets born to mis'ry! Sickness, death 
 The foes that dog man's footsteps sorrow, shame, 
 His foreborn comrades. Nuzzling in his breast 
 The viper Hope, that, cherished, double fang 
 Turns on her host ; while ever-callous Loss 
 Stands cruel by with lifted mall to smite 
 His bursting heart with scornful mocker-blow !' 
 
 So cried he frantic ; then, with firm resolve, 
 
 Ran out and on to dying Elsie's home. 
 
 The gate fast locked, he searched the garden wall. 
 
 A bough hung over. All his strength he set 
 
 In one vast effort. Leaping wildly up, 
 
 He clutched the friendly tree, and scaled the wall. 
 
The Question. 13 
 
 Now on toward the house. Death-silent all 
 
 The garden, court, and mansion. None came nigh 
 
 To chide or welcome, neither man nor maid. 
 
 Alone his footsteps filled the place with sound, 
 
 That answer made the pulsings of his heart 
 
 Tumultuous. Now the upper stair he climbed 
 
 To try each door. All opened ; none within, 
 
 But all disordered as from hasty flight. 
 
 Yet one remained, that fast ; he eager struck 
 
 A questioning blow against the sounding oak. 
 
 A heavy sigh made answer, with a cry, 
 
 Half moan, half question : 'Jesu, who is there? 
 
 None are there in the house all gone, all fled 
 
 But I, plague-stricken, hopeless, left to die !' 
 
 A strange, fierce joy now filled Cornelius' breast ; 
 
 He even smiled the while he made reply : 
 
 ' 'Tis I, Cornelius, come, my sweet, to share 
 
 Thy fate whate'er it be, or life or death.' 
 
 But Elsie shrieked. ' Ah, no, my love ah, no ! 
 
 Go back go back ! Not love, but hate were mine 
 
 To slay by welcome what I treasure most ; 
 
 The very air is poisoned with my breath. 
 
 Go back, my own, my darling ! I can die.' 
 
 He would not, but with oft beseeching sought 
 To win him entrance, till she feebly cried : 
 ' I cannot rise, dear love, and God be praised ! 
 I cannot, or my woman heart might do 
 The deed my soul abhors !' 
 
14 The Question. 
 
 Now maddened quite 
 At sound of voice so loved, so full of pain, 
 He, furious, shook the door. Too firm ; he spent 
 His strength in vain against the massy frame 
 And deep-set bolt. Then came the heaven-sent thought 
 The window ! Thereby I may enter in, 
 Too weak my love to bar my res'lute way. 
 
 Again within the garden, 'neath the trees, 
 
 He stood and scanned the windows. 'This it is, 
 
 Beneath yon gable. Ah, great God ! 'tis barred.' 
 
 But over all the wall a pear-tree grew, 
 
 And, all his soul on fire, he climbed the tree. 
 
 She helpless lay within upon her bed, 
 
 Beneath the casement. Ah, those cruel bars ! 
 
 To keep afar such matchless love and truth. 
 
 In vain with bleeding hands he wrenched and tore ; 
 
 Too well the smith had wrought. 'Twas all in vain. 
 
 He wept with rage. ' Ah, Elsie, Elsie ! now 
 For giant strength to tear these callous bolts 
 From out their stony sockets !' 
 
 Elsie heard, 
 
 And, moaning, turned her sore disfigured face 
 Toward the pane. He groaned, such awful change 
 Was wrought upon her features, late so fair. 
 ' My life ! Ah, me ! were mine the pain, so thou 
 Hadst 'scaped the scourge. Yet will I share.' 
 
 This said, 
 
 He broke the pane. ' My queen, I cannot reach 
 That listless hand or those so tortured lips ; 
 
The Question. 15 
 
 The pain-drops on thy brow I may not kiss 
 Away with lover kisses, or sustain 
 Thy dying head upon my breaking heart. 
 But I can die with thee, and so o'erleap 
 The gulf of Time and barrier set between 
 The dead and living.' 
 
 Off the spreading tree 
 He brake a slender spray, whose leafy top 
 Yet bore a late-born blossom. To his lips 
 He set the bloom, then through the broken pane 
 Thrust in the spray. ' My sweet one, I have set 
 A kiss upon the bloom, for only thus 
 My lips may reach thee. Kiss thou in return.' 
 
 A spasm shook the dying maiden's form, 
 Her glazing eyes fast fixed upon the face, 
 So haggard, yet so faithful o'er her hung, 
 But at such unkind distance. In her hand, 
 With last brave effort urged of quenchless love, 
 She took the spray, scarce conscious that she did, 
 And set it softly on her deathly lips, 
 Then, weary sighing, slept to wake in bliss. 
 
 A moment gazed Cornelius on the dead, 
 Then, bitter smiling, kissed the pearly bloom, 
 So pure to sight, yet bearing in its depths 
 Plague-boon of death. Again and yet again 
 He kissed it, gazing ever on the face 
 Of her he loved so fondly and so well, 
 Until he felt the fever in his blood, 
 And knew the poison raging in his veins. 
 
16 The Question. 
 
 Yet still he clung to tree and bar, and still 
 
 He spake the dead, with dauntless smile and tone : 
 
 ' My own ! my own ! I come, and soon ! I feel 
 
 Already at my heart the fiery thrill. 
 
 Ere night, my queen ere night, I come to thee.' 
 
 So clung he long time, whispering words of love 
 
 As she could hear, till, strength at end, he fell 
 
 Upon the turf beneath, but ever held 
 
 The spray tight clenched within his hand, and kissed 
 
 The kindly bloom, and ever bent his gaze 
 
 Up to the casement, and so gazing died. 
 
 ***** 
 
 No more I read. My Ella's face was hid 
 Again behind her veil of silken hair ; 
 But on her hands I saw the piteous tears 
 Fall, like to April shower. What need to ask ? 
 I knew her question answered to the full. 
 
 PERDIDI DIEM ! 
 
 PERDIDI DIEM ! Nigh a baker's shop 
 
 A man stood wistful in his arms a child 
 
 Asleep of weariness. Alas ! beguiled 
 
 By pleasant converse with a friend, to stop 
 
 I thought not, but passed by Perdidi diem ! 
 
 Perdidi diem ! After, at my meal, 
 My pets about me jealous each of each, 
 A weary face, more eloquent than speech, 
 Rose up, Egyptian guest. I could but feel 
 The sting of thoughtlessness Perdidi diem ! 
 
Perdidi Diem ! 17 
 
 Perdidi diem ! ' Evermore the poor 
 Ye shall have with you.' Thus the Lord of all. 
 Ah, God, how oft they look, they sigh, they call ! 
 We pass them careless by, or close the door. 
 Forgive me, Lord, for oft Perdidi diem ! 
 
 Perdidi diem ! Down the village street 
 A-dust with summer heat, and broader road, 
 Self-judged and self-condemned, I eager strode ; 
 A mile, then two, and three, yet could not greet 
 Again the wanderer pair Perdidi diem ! 
 
 Perdidi diem ! Sorrowful at heart 
 
 Returning home, I vowed no more for shame 
 
 111 felt, or pride, or selfish ease, the claim 
 
 Of outcast to repel, or hunger smart 
 
 Of poverty to quicken, lest one day 
 
 The God alike of rich and poor should say, 
 
 Tu perdidisti diem, servant Mine. 
 
 Non perdidisti diem, dost thou lift 
 
 A wormling out the path of hurrying men ; 
 
 Dost save a moth from flame ; the guiltless wren 
 
 Release from snare, or straying beetle shift 
 
 Back to its burrow ; but at close of day 
 
 Canst peaceful sleep to dream thy Lord doth say, 
 
 Non perdidisti diem, servant Mine ! 
 
iS 
 
 ST. MARK'S EVE. 
 
 I. 
 
 AND who, then, with me in the chancel to-night 
 
 Will watch, while the silver-rayed queen 
 Slow rides through the night in her vesture of light 
 
 O'er hilltop and valley between ? 
 While solemn the tempest sweeps through the firwood, 
 
 And spectre and goblin and elve 
 Come forth from the gloom of sepulchre and tomb 
 
 At boom of the turret at twelve ! 
 
 For they that the vigil of blessed St. Mark 
 
 Dare keep at the holy rood-screen, 
 Strange vision shall see ere the morrowing be 
 
 Most wondrous apparence, I ween. 
 For all they of Thoydon the weary year through 
 
 That perish by land or by sea, 
 At midnight must pass through the churchyard to Mass 
 
 With their priest and his acolytes three. 
 
 Oh, fair beyond telling was Margaret Clare 
 
 Who bade to that vigil unblest ; 
 Her forehead was bold, while her tresses of gold, 
 
 Wind-frolicked, kissed bosom and breast. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 19 
 
 Her eyes they were limpid and blue as the wave 
 
 That, breezeless and laid to repose, 
 In soft southern bay at the close of the day 
 
 Like amethyst glistens and glows. 
 
 High-hearted she came from the coppice, her hands 
 
 Befilled with the spoils of the wood 
 With daffodils pale and anemones frail, 
 
 And cuckoo-buds redder than blood. 
 Queen-crowned with a chaplet of daisies she stood 
 
 'Twas plaited by Laura Lestrange, 
 The maid at her feet : who so winsome and sweet 
 
 As Laura of Coopersale Grange ? 
 
 ' And I then ! I also ! And, Margaret, I !' 
 
 Her comrades made answer with glee ; 
 Save Rosamond, pale as the luce of the vale, 
 
 Who, trembling, knelt down at her knee. 
 And ' Sister, dear sister,' she earnest replied ; 
 
 ' Forbear ! oh, forbear now your quest !' 
 So pleaded the maid as her forehead she laid 
 
 In terror on Margaret's breast. 
 
 But Margaret, laughing, ' My bonny white Rose, 
 
 Thou ever wert troubled with fear 
 For me, from the day of our sisterly play 
 
 Sweet Rose without rival or peer ! 
 But happen what may, in the chancel to-night 
 
 I watch till the dawning of day. 
 So they now that dare in my vigil may share, 
 
 And they that are fearful may stay.' 
 
20 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 * 
 
 But Rosamond, sighing, uplifted her head, 
 
 And sadly her sister she kist ; 
 Yet scarcely could see, for the fast-falling sea 
 
 Of sorrow, love's soul-springing mist ; 
 And, clinging, entreated in tremulous tone : 
 
 ' Dear sister, if any must go, 
 Let me be the one, for no peril I'll shun 
 
 To save thee from danger or woe.' 
 
 ' Not so. None shall venture for sparing of me,' 
 
 Said Margaret, proud as the day 
 At morn, that with beam and with fervour and gleam 
 
 Recks not of the dying away. 
 ' I go, and go fearless ; but, Rosamond, you 
 
 Shall not, lest misfortune befall ; 
 So stay you and pray till the breaking of day, 
 
 And carol of lark at its call.' 
 
 s 
 
 II. 
 
 Not yet from her couch in the lonely firwood 
 
 The moon had arisen serene, 
 Though silvery-white was the canopy bright 
 
 That hung o'er the slumbering queen. 
 And soft was the breeze as the murmur of harp, 
 
 Or fountain's Eolian strain, 
 Or sighing of maid with her cherry lips laid 
 
 To those of her passionate swain. 
 
 And dark was the chapel enshrouded in trees 
 O'erhanging the grave-chequered knoll ; 
 
 The clang of its bell, as the midnight befell, 
 Like knell for a moribund soul. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 21 
 
 But bravely the maid with her tryst-fellows three 
 
 Hid up in the oaken rood-loft, 
 With fond arms entwined as their heads they inclined 
 
 Full oft to her whispering soft. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! for the hour it is knelling. And see 
 
 Yon light with its corpse-kindled gleam ! 
 The chancel is gray with its shadowless ray ; 
 
 It spreads over pillar and beam. 
 And list, too, the organ beginning to roll ! 
 
 But softly ! and see, too, the bread 
 Is set with the cup of which only may sup 
 
 The priest at the Mass of the dead. 
 
 They fearfully watching, the prodigy grew, 
 
 And ever the requiem rolled 
 Its withering strain, while again and again 
 
 The passing-bell drearily tolled. 
 And see now, wide opened of grave-quickened hand, 
 
 The portal is noiselessly flung, 
 As slow on the wall, to the requiem's fall, 
 
 The bannerols mournfully swung. 
 
 And weirdly the glamour streamed onward, and lit 
 
 The yews and the cypresses low, 
 Each sorrow twined wreath, with the gravestone beneath, 
 
 Ablaze with the marvellous glow. 
 And awful ! see now in the fascinous light 
 
 That ghostly funereal band, 
 The pathway upled by their priest at their head, 
 
 Close now to the charnel-house stand ! 
 
22 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 And babelings were there that as yet were unborn, 
 
 With wives that as yet were unwed ; 
 And schoolmaidens fair that unhappy should share 
 
 The grave with the silver-thatched head. 
 And all as they halted the sign of the cross 
 
 Made slowly on bosom and brow ; 
 Then silently came, while the space-filling flame 
 
 Shone fiercely on headstone and bough. 
 
 Still onward, while, swelling, the weird organ-strain 
 
 Was sad as the wail of the wave 
 That sweeps o'er the deck of the rock-splintered wreck, 
 
 And beats at the mariner's grave. 
 Now halting, close gathered, beneath the rood-screen, 
 
 They kneel while their passionless priest, 
 His antiphons said, incenses the bread 
 
 And wine for the marvellous feast. 
 
 Oh, dauntless as eagle was Margaret Clare : 
 
 What dread in her bosom might hide, 
 Who never had known a desire that had grown 
 
 To sin against virginal pride ? 
 For often alone with her staghound at night 
 
 She walked in the forestal glade, 
 No fear at her heart though her comrade should start 
 
 And bay at the quivering shade. 
 
 But now she knew terror, and clung to the rood, 
 
 Her forehead embracing its feet ; 
 It shook with her clasp and the fire of her grasp, 
 
 Her bosom's impetuous beat. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 23 
 
 But bravely she battled the fear in her soul, 
 And conquered her conquest how sore ! 
 
 Less happy than they, her companions, who lay 
 A-swoon at her feet on the floor. 
 
 For three of those ghastly life shadows she knew, 
 
 And one was child Laura, that lay 
 Already as dead, in her horror and dread, 
 
 Her face marble, pallid, and gray ; 
 The others ah, God ! for the pang in her breast ! 
 
 The last of the phantomic train : 
 A youth and a lass ; 'twas herself that did pass 
 
 With him that was sailing the main. 
 
 The gold on his shoulder was fleckered with blood, 
 
 The blue was commingled with red 
 By broiderer Death, when the laborous breath, 
 
 Fate-bidden, the conqueror fled. 
 And she : on her bosom the marshweed lay dank ; 
 
 The clotted blood hung in her hair ; 
 Her kirtle was wet, and her gaze it was set, 
 
 With the drowning girl's agonized stare. 
 
 But either yet turned on the other a look 
 
 Of love, all unspeakable still 
 Though he had his grave 'neath the far-sounding wave, 
 
 And she in the church-shadowed hill. 
 And peaceful, hands clasping, together they knelt, 
 
 While wondrous the melody rolled 
 Through chancel and aisle, as slowly the while 
 
 The sanctus-bell solemnly tolled. 
 
24 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 Now slowly the celebrant lifted the cup, 
 
 And signed the blest sign in the air ; 
 Then worshipped the Host, while Margaret crost 
 
 Her breast at the measureless glare 
 That burst from the chalice and patine, and fell 
 
 Aflame on her bosom and brow, 
 As low at the screen, and as yet all unseen, 
 
 She knelt with the phantoms below. 
 
 Was 't hazard or purpose ? Her lover looked up ; 
 
 He saw her, and bending his head 
 With unearthly grace, did he show her a place 
 
 Beside him a place with the dead ! 
 Ah, wondrous life-ruler ! Fate monarch ! Ah, Love ! 
 
 Thou victor and spoiler of Death ! 
 No terror she knew, but undauntedly drew 
 
 To the shade of her lover beneath. 
 
 The organ note sank to a murmurous fall ; 
 
 The glamour redoubled its light; 
 As calm in its sheen, all untroubled, serene, 
 
 Like to star in the tiar of night, 
 She came to the side of her lover ; and, lo ! 
 
 The shadow departed that dwelt 
 Beside him erewhile, as with welcoming smile 
 
 He bent, while she silently knelt. 
 
 And calmly beside him she knelt, and her soul 
 
 Went up to Jehovah in prayer : 
 ' On earth or in heav'n, my troth-pledge is giv'n 
 
 To him, and his hazard I share. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 25 
 
 Forgive, if thus loving I sin, Lord, for love 
 
 Of Thee is begotten alone ; 
 I do but keep troth, assoil Thou then both ; 
 
 Let Mass for misdoing atone." 
 
 Now drew the priest near ; all untroubled she bore 
 
 His death-gaze, as, crossing her hands, 
 She shared with the rest, in the Sacrament blest, 
 
 That the Christ-God His people commands. 
 And sudden her spirit, complacent, beheld, 
 
 In faithful foreshadowing clear, 
 The doom that should be, upon land and on sea, 
 
 To each ere the death of the year. 
 
 Mass ended, the pageant slow faded away ; 
 
 And, people and celebrant gone, 
 Night's cloud-girdled queen, with her crystalline sheen, 
 
 Looked down on the maiden alone. 
 And placid its beam through the checkering pane 
 
 Came flooding the chorestal floor, 
 Like angel of light, with a message of might 
 
 To spirits earth-wearied and sore. 
 
 And, lo ! to her fancy the face of the Christ, 
 
 Thorn-crowned, in the traceried frame, 
 Shone out in the ray in a mystical way, 
 
 With love and compassion aflame. 
 And tearful she worshipped : ' O Fountain of love ! 
 
 Grant now I may service Thee well, 
 Whate'er may befall, till Thy welcoming call, 
 
 And close of life's wearisome spell !' 
 
26 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 Thereafter uprising, she went to the stair, 
 
 And, climbing its newel-stone steep, 
 ' Wake, Catherine, wake ! or my kisses shall break 
 
 The charm of thy merciful sleep ! 
 And, Laura, dear comrade, unconscious of fate, 
 
 Awake ! for thy lifehood is fleet. 
 Rise, Emily, rise ! we must home ere the skies 
 
 Morn's embassy lovingly greet." 
 
 And sighing they woke at the call of the voice, 
 
 So passionless, tranquil, and clear ; 
 Untroubled they woke, but as memory broke, 
 
 They trembled and murmured with fear. 
 But cheerful she chid them : ' Ah, cowards ! afraid 
 
 Of naught but the silver moonbeam ;' 
 But nothing they said, as they eagerly fled 
 
 The scene of their terrible dream. 
 
 But Margaret held in her embrace a hand 
 
 'Twas Laura's, full clammy, and cold 
 And lifted it oft to her bosom so soft, 
 
 Yet ever so dauntless and bold. 
 And hastening onward, ere long there shone out 
 
 The lights from the hill-topping hall ; 
 But bodingly howled in their kennels, and growled, 
 
 The dogs, as they sped by the wall. 
 
 And Rosamond springing to Margaret's arms, 
 
 For gladness her pearly tears fell. 
 ' And what did you see ?' did she ask in her glee ; 
 
 But Margaret nothing would tell ; 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 27 
 
 But, gently caressing the eager young face, 
 
 Uplifted in love to her own : 
 ' Ask nothing, my sweet ! for I may not repeat 
 
 What to me was in secrecy shown.' 
 
 The others but little could proffer, so soon 
 
 Their senses by terror opprest : 
 The gleaming could tell, with the slow-swinging bell, 
 
 The organ but naught of the rest. 
 And morning came filling the landskip with light, 
 
 And evening succeeded to day ; 
 But ne'er from each heart did remembrance depart, 
 
 Or sorrow surrender its sway. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, Margaret Clare she was wealthy and great, 
 
 Far-stretching her manors and wide, 
 And if she were proud, e'en detraction allowed 
 
 Her noble, spite glozing of pride. 
 'Twas pride that, disdaining the grudging of greed, 
 
 Ne'er snatched from the few-friended poor, 
 The way-gotten plot or the shingle-thatched cot 
 
 That crouched at the edge of the moor. 
 
 And often, nor waiting for word of distress, 
 
 She went through the welcoming street, 
 A smile for each door, with a gift for the poor, 
 
 And the children she lingered to meet. 
 For lonely she dwelt in her hall on the hill 
 
 All dead were her kith and her kin, 
 Save Rosamond gay, whose feet the whole day 
 
 Made life with their musical din. 
 
28 S*. Mark's Eve. 
 
 And both were troth-plighted. But Margaret's heart 
 
 Was won by Sir Reginald Hood, 
 Awatch on the main for the galleons of Spain, 
 
 Curse-laden of carnage and blood. 
 He homeward returning, the clamorous bells 
 
 Would tell of the wedding and feast 
 The wide-opened hall and the fleet-footed ball, 
 
 With largess for greatest and least. 
 
 But now there came tidings from over the sea 
 
 Of victory wrought on the main, 
 Of battle by night and the Spaniards in flight, 
 
 But also Sir Reginald slain ! 
 And softly, long doubtful, they ventured the tale ; 
 
 She heard them as one that hath share 
 No longer in life in its joy or its strife, 
 
 Its happiness, misery, care. 
 
 But only she went to the chancel at noon, 
 And knelt on the knee-furrowed stone, 
 
 And gazed on the face of the Christ-God whose grace 
 Gives peace to the weary alone, 
 
 Oft pleading : ' O Lamb of the aye-living God, 
 Who bleeding didst die, and for me, 
 
 Ah ! comfort me now, for in sorrow I bow, 
 
 And lift up my soul unto Thee.' 
 
 
 
 And summer departing, the mellowing mist 
 Came up from the stream-threaded lea ; 
 
 Its vaporous breath, like funereal wreath, 
 Hung ghostly on hedgerow and tree. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 29 
 
 And borne on its pinions, death-fretted, it brought, 
 
 Relentless, fate-message for one ; 
 And Margaret sighed, for at Hallowmas-tide 
 
 Was Laura's life-voyaging done. 
 
 And kissing the maiden's cold forehead, full low 
 
 She whispered : ' Not long now, and I 
 Shall sleep by thy side, nor shall foolishly chide 
 
 The days that they sluggishly fly.' 
 And all about marvelled that never a tear 
 
 She shed, nor complaining let fall, 
 For love-dream at end, or for loss of the friend 
 
 She cherished as dearest of all. 
 
 'Twas eve of the Mass of the Saviour blest time 
 
 Of peace upon earth and in air ; 
 The louvre bells rang, and the carollers sang 
 
 Their songs on the terraced stair. 
 And Margaret listened beside the yule-fire, 
 
 A smile on her high-thoughted face 
 The summons so near, with the death of the year, 
 
 That now was departing apace. 
 
 ' Oh, worship the King !' so the carollers sang ; 
 
 Her spirit went up with the strain 
 To regions of light, where in measureless might 
 
 The King of all kinglets doth reign. 
 And ' " Nowell," ' she murmured ; ' Thou all-gracious 
 God! 
 
 " Nowell " on this heart-thrilling eve 
 Thou Well-spring of love that of mercy didst move 
 
 Man's burden to prove and reprieve !' 
 
3O S/. Mark's Eve. 
 
 And after she summoned the caroilers in, 
 
 And tankard and wassail went round, 
 "While nigh to her knee was the eldest of three 
 
 Whose father in autumn was drowned. 
 And laying her hand on the chorister's head, 
 
 She blessed him, and bade him beware ; 
 True son he should show to his mother, nor know 
 
 A thought that she never might share. 
 
 They gone with her largess, she sat by the blaze, 
 
 Her thought with the two that were dead ; 
 Till Rosamond came, and, with pleasure aflame, 
 
 Bent mirthfully over her head. 
 And suddenly circling her neck with her arms, 
 
 Her face she drew close to her own 
 ' Oh, far-away queen, with the morrow, I ween, 
 
 Must pleasure for brooding atone.' 
 
 And ' Harold is going,' she said with a blush ; 
 
 ' But early to morrow at morn 
 Is coming with Kate ; and all's well, we will skate 
 
 On the lake by the three-parted thorn.' 
 Then Margaret rose ; and her sister for long 
 
 Remembered, with yearning and pain, 
 The look in her face, with her silent embrace, 
 
 Her kiss, and her lingering strain. 
 
 And presently taking the youth by the hand, 
 
 ' A word with you, Harold, aside. 
 Nay, Rosamond, nay ! What to Harold I say 
 
 From you I do purposely hide.' 
 
S^. Mark's Eve. 31 
 
 Then told she the tale of that marvellous night 
 He speechless through grief and dismay 
 
 That she on her bier ere the close of the year 
 Must lie in sepulchral array. 
 
 And straitly she charged him to treasure his bride 
 
 Be husband and brother in one, 
 For the sake of the friend, who, her sorrow at end, 
 
 For aye had her rapture begun. 
 Then sisterly parting she set on his cheek, 
 
 His sorrow so truthfully shown ; 
 'Twas lofty-souled youth, whose honour and truth 
 
 She knew and could trust as her own. 
 
 ' And when thou art master, and fillest my place, 
 
 Think oft of the poor and the old : 
 For life is at best but a struggle for rest, 
 
 And gratitude better than gold. 
 And he who that garners is richer by far 
 
 Than he, the false steward of God, 
 Of charity bare, whose wealth is a snare, 
 
 And misapplied talent a rod. 
 
 ' And now fare thee well ! for to-night I must ride 
 
 To Lambourne. Nurse Alice would grieve 
 Full sore did she miss of her foster-child's kiss 
 
 And God-speed ere ending of eve. 
 Good-bye, then. Come early, for Rosamond's sake. 
 
 Yet see in this oaken bureau 
 My testament set, with a word for my pet 
 
 God lighten her burden of woe !' 
 
32 S^. Mark's Eve. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Most lovely the even, as Margaret rode 
 
 To Lambourne by hedgerow and lane ; 
 And lustre streamed down from the Lyre and the Crown, 
 
 And the Dogs by the Waggoner's Wain. 
 And Victor, her staghound, ran joyous, and oft 
 
 Would leap in his glee at the horse ; 
 Then, bounding off, bark, to pursue in the dark 
 
 The hare through the snow and the gorse. 
 
 And firm was the seal of the frost on the road, 
 
 On brooklet and millstream and pond : 
 The ice it gleamed white, in the nebulous light, 
 
 On river and marshes beyond. 
 And sparkling the snowdrift lay deep in the dell, 
 
 And under the slant of the hedge ; 
 While keen the wind blew, as, the osier-beds through, 
 
 Wild sighing it snarled at the sedge. 
 
 The welkin was loud with the musical clang 
 
 Of the bells in their turreted lair ; 
 The song and the din of the broad-gabled inn 
 
 Swept merrily out on the air ; 
 While lightsome the lilt of the viola rose, 
 
 With harp in the many-voiced street ; 
 And cheery each tongue with a welcoming rung, 
 
 Where neighbours and relatives meet. 
 
 Now reaching the cottage, she gave up the rein 
 
 To one that ran out to the gate ; 
 Where also the dame in her eagerness came, 
 
 The light on her white-kerchiefed pate. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 33 
 
 And clasping her charge to her motherly breast, 
 
 She kissed her in pride and in glee : 
 ' My darling is late, but as steadfast as fate ; 
 
 I knew that her face I should see.' 
 
 And restful awhile in the snow-covered cot 
 
 She lay in the arms of her friend ; 
 The moments how fast do they speed ! they are past ! 
 
 'Now hallow me, Christ, to the end.' 
 A motherly clasp and a lingering kiss, 
 
 But hearken her whinnying horse ! 
 A smile from the dame, and good-bye ! But she came 
 
 In an hour to her bosom a corse. 
 
 All heedless she rode, for her heart it was full 
 
 Of peace, and her spirit away 
 From pulsing of life with its turmoil and strife, 
 
 Its prison and fetters of clay. 
 Unhindered her palfrey returned by a road, 
 
 A way she was wonted to choose 
 When summer had drunk at the river, and shrunk 
 
 Its waters to streamlet and ooze. 
 
 But ere that the car of the snow-cradled king 
 
 Rolled down on the quivering ground, 
 All over the mead had the waters outspread, 
 
 Full soon to be fettered and bound. 
 Ice-fettered and bound at a breath of the king, 
 
 And rigid for many a rood, 
 The ice-ichor gleamed, where the bulrushes streamed 
 
 Acrest of the meadow-spread flood. 
 
 3 
 
34 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 A star now a-sudden flashed out in the night, 
 
 And system and planet grew dim 
 In blaze of the world, death-bidden and hurled 
 
 To ruin, restoreless and grim. 
 And, startled, the palfrey sprang forward ! In vain 
 
 Awak'ning, she caught at the rein ; 
 Regardless he fled, and the fire from his tread 
 
 Leapt out of the crystalline plain. 
 
 And stumbling of terror, he brake the ice through, 
 
 And rolled in the turgidous flood ; 
 She fell from her seat with his adamant feet 
 
 He struck she was blinded with blood ! 
 And clutching full wildly at saddle and band, 
 
 She clutched in her anguish in vain ; 
 But fainting could hear, and her covert anear, 
 
 The carollers chaunting again. 
 
 ' Adeste fideles,' they carolled, the strain 
 
 All solemnly blessing the air ; 
 She echoed the word : ' I come, then, dear Lord ! 
 
 Hail, Babe of the manger-cratch bare !' 
 And sullen the waters closed over her head ; 
 
 But joyous her spirit returned 
 To land of its birth, as the trammels of earth, 
 
 Ecstatic, it evermore spurned. 
 
 His foothold regaining, the fallen horse smote 
 
 The ice till he stood on the bank ; 
 But Victor loud bayed, and his mistress essayed 
 
 To reach where she silently sank. 
 
St. Mark's Eve. 35 
 
 For swiftly he plunged in the black-bosomed pool 
 
 And catching her dress with his teeth, 
 He drew her to shore, his companion no more 
 
 By hamlet or woodland or heath. 
 
 And ever he bayed, and he bayed till the night 
 
 Was full of his sorrowful cry, 
 As, crouched in the sedge, he kept watch at the edge 
 
 Of the river his mistress anigh. 
 And, wond'ring, the carollers ceased in their song, 
 
 And hearkened again and again ; 
 Then followed the sound, till their lady they found, 
 
 A corpse on the treacherous plain. 
 
 And weeping they lifted her out of the weed, 
 
 And bearing her slow to the cot, 
 Dame Alice drew nigh, with a terrible cry : 
 
 ' Ah, God, is Thy mercy forgot ?' 
 Then kissing in frenzy the blood-oozing brow, 
 
 And lips that yet lovingly smiled, 
 She laid on her breast the dead maiden to rest, 
 
 As oft when a light-hearted child. 
 
 At daybreak full early the ringers came forth, 
 
 And mad was each clangorous bell, 
 Until the tale spread of their liege lady dead, 
 
 When jubilance ended in knell. 
 And after was offered, with sighing and tears, 
 
 The Christ-mass ; and service was sung 
 By lips that with pain but essayed the refrain, 
 
 Their hearts all too bitterly wrung. 
 
36 St. Mark's Eve. 
 
 But dead she yet lived, and her wishes were law 
 
 Long after in cottage and hall : 
 For she dwelt in each heart as a presence apart 
 
 From death and the funeral-pall. 
 And years they drew by, but unceasing her tomb 
 
 Was bright with the flowerets sweet 
 She loved as a maid, and by Rosamond laid 
 
 With tears at her Margaret's feet. 
 
 But none ever after dare venture within 
 
 The churchyard at vigil of Mark, 
 And children still run from its precincts, and shun 
 
 Its causey at falling of dark. 
 For still it is whispered at midnight the door 
 
 Swings ope, and the anthem is sung, 
 As slowly to Mass in the chancel doth pass 
 
 That priest with his moribund throng. 
 
37 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 How happy I, had Fortune willed 
 For me a roof in wooded glen : 
 
 Mine own remote from stir, and filled 
 With goodly books of goodly men ; 
 
 Oft read, oft pondered, laid to heart, 
 
 Sure friends no hap of ill can part ! 
 
 How sweet to bid the jarring town 
 Farewell, and calm in leafy cot 
 
 Untroubled move ; at night lie down 
 World-aims, world-wishes all forgot ; 
 
 With never thought for morn but this : 
 
 Awakening brings return of bliss ! 
 
 Ye winds, that wake the woodland strings 
 To harmony, most sweet at night ! 
 
 Ye thymy banks ! ye purling springs, 
 
 That glist'ning glide like threads of light ! 
 
 Ye birds, as free as thought, that rove 
 
 At will, or warbling shake the grove ! 
 
 Ah me ! might I but mate with you, 
 
 With you your harmless pleasures prove ; 
 
 Bid sense, and strife, and care adieu, 
 Henceforth in nobler manhood move ; 
 
 Drawn close to Nature's breast, and kept 
 
 From snares, too late bewailed, bewept. 
 
WINTER-EVE. 
 
 GOOD-LACK ! now day and task are done, 
 
 Come master, maid, or peasant ; 
 We'll share around the well-set board 
 
 Its store of junkets pleasant. 
 The snow bends low the spruce-fir bough, 
 
 And cumbers beam and rafter ; 
 We'll shake it down ere long, I trow, 
 
 With song and shout and laughter. 
 
 Our ingleside is bright and wide, 
 
 Without there's blast and bluster ; 
 Come nearer, lads, there's room enow, 
 
 Nor stand, nor stare, nor fluster. 
 Come sit and smoke, and jest and joke, 
 
 While Sue with noisy clatter 
 Clears all away, while Spot and Tray 
 
 Growl over greasy platter. 
 
 The mazer cup, oft filled, shall pass 
 
 From hand to hand the fleeter 
 For kiss and sip of cherry lip, 
 
 That makes the cup the sweeter; 
 While each the lass he favours toasts, 
 
 And sighs and smiles and blushes, 
 Tell tales, and tempt to jig and dance 
 
 Amid the cornflag rushes. 
 
Winter-eve. 39 
 
 Then hoodman blind, each artful maid 
 
 By laughter place betraying 
 Sly things that shriek at lover grasp, 
 
 And kiss, false fear essaying ; 
 Till, weary, gathered once again 
 
 About the sere log blazing, 
 Relate the newest village feat, 
 
 Or town-brought tale amazing. 
 
 Or tell of hag, and witch, and fay, 
 
 And him that roams the heather, 
 All headless thorough bush and brake 
 
 By night whate'er the weather ; 
 Of Dick that haunts the farmhouse hill, 
 
 And Kate that fills the hollow 
 With drowning cries, and him that flies, 
 
 Werewolf, while hellhounds follow. 
 
 So tell, while Joan and Kitty draw 
 
 Their sweethearts' side the nearer, 
 Assured by circling arm sweet life ! 
 
 Than lover clasp, what's dearer? 
 Now stay who will, the maids retire 
 
 To rest, but all together 
 Here's health to those that keep within, 
 
 And those that brave the weather ! 
 
LILIAN LANE. 
 
 I. 
 
 'TWAS dawn in Waltham Holy Cross, what time 
 The Mass was sung for Harold, hapless king, 
 
 Forsworn and fall'n on Senlac's field sublime, 
 His raven standard earthward fluttering, 
 
 With bloody fold, where, victory denied, 
 
 The royal brethren sank, and dauntless died. 
 
 For him, betrayed of fortune, what so well 
 Became as death, and rest within the fane 
 
 His largess founded ? Oft the woful knell, 
 Slow rung of monken hand, should wake again 
 
 In patriot breast the warrior flame, and chide 
 
 Lethargic hate that brooked tyrannic pride. 
 
 Twas dawn within the minster. Vast and fair 
 Loomed chauntry, aisle, and chapel, dimly seen 
 
 Through gleam of shrine-set taper, or the flare 
 Of cresset swung the transept arch between ; 
 
 O'er all a glamour lay, with shadowy light 
 
 Adown the nave from brass-laid pillar bright. 
 
Lilian Lane. 41 
 
 For gloom prevailed, for all the Eastern gate 
 Stood ope, unlatched at blithe Aurora's call ; 
 
 For all through pane, of servile Flemish state, 
 The purpled radiance softly 'gan to fall 
 
 O'er shrine and tomb, and costly parquet pave, 
 
 And prayerful slab o'er crosiered abbot's grave. 
 
 Through pillared nave, and broad triforium span, 
 By sculptured stall and rood of Bethlehem, 
 
 Rich gift of angel hand, the pleading ran, 
 ' Eternam ei dona requiem,' 
 
 With retinue of echoes, whose refrain 
 
 Renewed the plaint again and yet again. 
 
 Sonorous now as when the wind-swept sea 
 
 Resents storm's embrace, wildly strong and rude ; 
 
 Now sweetly sweet as when some moorland tree 
 Pours forth at eve complaint of solitude ; 
 
 The Mass went on till all the quivering air, 
 
 Of pain grown voiceful, swelled the fervent pray'r. 
 
 Now paled the light of altar-taper, while 
 
 The blazoned casement overhead grew bright 
 
 With beam of day. Within the arching aisle 
 Night sullen lingered, till increasing light 
 
 Renewed the war, and drave him thence, for all 
 Support of pier and portal, screen and wall. 
 
42 Lilian Lane. 
 
 His Mass at end, the monk arose and closed 
 His well-worn missal clasped with clasp of gold 
 
 Then slowly turned him, where the king reposed 
 In tomb of porph'ry, richly wrought of old 
 
 With carving quaint, and bright mosaic stone 
 
 Of turquoise, agate, marble, chalcedone. 
 
 ' Infelix Harold !' murmured he, his gaze 
 Upon the legend, simple, gleaming red 
 
 On scroll of gold, that shone amid the blaze 
 
 Of kindling light which all the shrine o'erspread 
 
 From nearer casement, where the glowing pane 
 
 Portrayed the king in conflict with the Dane. 
 
 ' Infelix ? No ! Unhappy he that spoils 
 
 God's Church on earth, pretending hate of crimes 
 
 So like his own, they seem but counterfoils 
 Of his own royal passions. Evil times 
 
 Were thine indeed, O warrior earl, but still 
 
 Thou diedst a king, nor brooked tyrannic will 
 
 ' In self or other. Thine the nobler meed 
 A warrior's death than his, whom foul disgrace 
 
 Pursues, the while he thinks to cover greed 
 With fierce rebuke of ill in lesser place ; 
 
 Whose vices grow, till victims hourly plead 
 
 O'erpatient Heaven for judgment on his head.' 
 
Lilian Lane, 43 
 
 So said the monk. Yet while he mournful spake, 
 Upon his brow day's first full radiance fell. 
 
 'Twas healing touch. His face grew calm. ' So break,' 
 He softly said, ' God's morrowings after spell 
 
 Of darkness and disfavour. I will trust 
 
 Him though He slay, for all His ways are just. 
 
 ' His ways are just. He chastens to reform 
 Alone, and metes but scanty meed of wrath. 
 
 His Church shall show the fairer for the storm, 
 Though trembling now as reed in tiger path ; 
 
 Not yet the dirge of sacred truth is sung, 
 
 Not yet faith's knell by hands unholy rung.' 
 
 Now thoughtful turning where the organ stood, 
 But waiting touch of skilful master hand 
 
 To fill the fane with sweet harmonic brood 
 Of music tuneful as seraphic band, 
 
 Here sat he down to lose in restful strain 
 
 Distractive thought and sting of viper pain. 
 
 Awhile he played ; then sudden at his side 
 Brake forth a song surpassing rich and clear ; 
 
 He mournful smiled, alone such tuneful tide 
 Could flow, he knew, from him that warbled near 
 
 A youth, a lad of lofty look, and hair 
 
 Of gold, that streaming fringed his surplice fair. 
 
44 Lilian Lane. 
 
 Like lark uplift on humid wing, and lost 
 
 In flood of song, and cloud of morning gold, 
 
 The lad sang on from placid heart, untost 
 By wave of tempest passion, or the cold 
 
 Recoil of stern repression. Sweeter song 
 
 Before ne'er swept the minster aisle along. 
 
 'Twas ancient hymn, oft sung with bated breath 
 In cave and catacomb by trembling tongue, 
 
 While Death stood listening by, and fiery wreath 
 Of martyrdom already overhung 
 
 The singers' heads, with spirit hands unseen 
 
 Stretched out to bless, or cheer, or intervene. 
 
 And playing on, yet softly, till the song 
 
 Was done, and all the echoing aisles were still, 
 
 The monk beheld in visioned bliss the throng 
 Of white-robed witnesses that life and will 
 
 Laid at their Master's feet beheld, and smiled 
 
 To think how pain awhile had him beguiled, 
 
 Of faith and hope, their comrade, yet, of earth, 
 Like them foredoomed to sorrow, trial, loss. 
 
 Himself again, thrice blessed prayer had birth : 
 ' My God, like Thee, so may I bear the cross 
 
 And flaunting reed, else never victor palm ; 
 
 Know stripes and thorns, else never heavenly balm.' 
 
Lilian Lane. 45 
 
 So prayed the monk, his head upon his breast, 
 His eyes o'ercast by sorrow's filmy frieze ; 
 
 His song at end, the chorister caressed 
 
 The tear-stained hand that idly grasped the keys ; 
 
 And ' Father Abbot, why thus sad ?' he said ; 
 
 ' Why weep you thus, and droop your holy head ? 
 
 ' The morn is fair how fair ! the minster gay 
 With newborn radiance ; all without is bright 
 
 And careless glad at coming of Dan Day ; 
 See how yon tapers blink amid the light, 
 
 Their pigmy glory lost amid the flood 
 
 Of flame old Titan pours o'er screen and rood. 
 
 ' Within the cloister, hark the tuneful din ! 
 
 My song has stirred to emulance of skill 
 The fleet-winged brood, that often venture in 
 
 The church at prime or vespers, ling'ring still 
 To learn, methinks, some inkling of the strain 
 We sing, to sing it to their mates again.' 
 
 The abbot smiled, a weary smile ; then slow 
 And mournful spake, his hand upon the bright 
 
 And clustering curls that decked his scholar's brow 
 ' Can that be fair, dear lad, that turns to night 
 
 Day's golden hope, and scatters fear and gloom 
 
 O'er all the land, with swift and cruel doom 
 
46 Lilian Lane. 
 
 ' Of death to those too faithful to accept 
 A tyrant's will in place of holy trust ? 
 
 And all, forsooth, that sin and wrong have crept 
 Betimes among us, as they will and must 
 
 While men are men, else wherefore watchful pray'r, 
 
 Or priest, or Mass, or instant Christian care? 
 
 ' Firm stand these walls, in pride of strength severe 
 Yon burnished panes diffuse effulgent ray ; 
 
 Yon roof shows fair, as beauty naught need fear 
 At builder hand. Ah, me ! ah, woeful day ! 
 
 A little while and all shall ruined lie : 
 
 Church, cloister, choir, in shapeless miser) 7 ! 
 
 ' E'en now the king's commissioners set forth, 
 And I must yield them strict accompt of all 
 
 I have in charge, of great or lesser worth, 
 Nor dare refuse for dread of bloody fall ; 
 
 Woe's me ! that age should coward manly will, 
 
 And heav'n so near, earth prove more potent still. 
 
 ' So am I sad, dear child ; yet not that I 
 No more shall sit in seat of godly men, 
 
 Or mitred rule. An old worn man, I fly 
 Distractive parley for the quiet pen, 
 
 And calm of cloistral cell. Enough for me 
 
 God-given scope for Christian charity ! 
 
Lilian Lane. 47 
 
 ' Yet sing again. Nor, Francis, e'er forget 
 Old Abbot Fuller, how he taught thee well 
 
 To use thy gift of song, nor e'er regret 
 Forsaken bed at call of convent-bell ; 
 
 Sing yet again, before the doomstroke fall, 
 
 And voiceless ruin brood in choir and stall ! 
 
 ' Thou canst not, child, thy soul so disarrayed, 
 And voice and speech suffused in guileless tears ? 
 
 Then be it so ! Together we have prayed 
 Our morrowing task at end, with all thy fears 
 
 Full oft at yonder shrine. So kneel again 
 
 And holy Mary grant surcease of pain !' 
 
 Oh, fleet-winged prayer, celestial courier, 
 Outspacing space, impassioned pursuivant 
 
 Of weary man to tireless Arbiter 
 
 Of all, enshrined in sevenfold firmament ! 
 
 Be mine to pray when care and grief oppress, 
 
 Or summer joys entice with loveliness ! 
 
 Be mine to pray when morning's pinions cleave 
 Resistless way through night's disparting veil ; 
 
 And mine to pray what time reposeful eve 
 Her peaceful mantle casts o'er crest and dale, 
 
 In hopeful youth, proud prime, and av'rous age, 
 
 Be mine to pray all through life's pilgrimage ! 
 
48 Lilian Lane. 
 
 II. 
 
 Where laggard Lea disparts her pleasant stream, 
 And wraps the Waltham meads in soft embrace, 
 
 Young Francis strayed ; and, as in mocking dream 
 Oft exiles see the roof-tree of their race, 
 
 So gazed the lad with sad and wistful eyes 
 
 Beyond the stream, where church and convent rise. 
 
 The crime complete, already spoiler hands 
 Mad havoc wrought within the goodly fane ; 
 
 Already, slave to callous greed's commands, 
 Unlettered violence won unhallowed gain ; 
 
 While sledges smote incessant, and the clang 
 
 Of pick and bar through crypt and cloister rang. 
 
 Down all ! down all ! Down choir magnificat, 
 
 With shrine and tomb, and matchless sculptor dream, 
 
 Firm set in stone ! Down shaft and capital ! 
 
 When tides are full, what boots to dam the stream ? 
 
 What profits skill, in scale with miser gain ? 
 
 While greed triumphant, beauty pleads in vain. 
 
 The lad went on, and o'er, by Harold's bridge, 
 The limpid stream that placid flowed around 
 
 The meads unmoved by ruin. Slow the sedge 
 
 Waved restless in the wind. The snakeweed wound 
 
 Its slimy folds. The broad-ribbed arch beheld 
 
 Its shade within the water as of eld. 
 
Lilian Lane. 49 
 
 Beyond, deep set within the minster wall, 
 
 There stood unlatched a broad and studded gate; 
 
 Thence bordered paths, o'erhung with bushes tall, 
 Went in and out the pleasaunce desolate ; 
 
 Untended now, all in disorder lay, 
 
 Unkempt the lawn, untrimmed the border bay. 
 
 The Provence rose for lack of trainer hand 
 
 Ungraceful drooped ; the snow-flecked jessamine 
 
 In tangling clusters hung ; her chaliced wand 
 Queen lily lifted doubtful ; bindweed twine 
 
 Ran over all unchecked; while pansies mild, 
 
 By ruder growth obscured, dejected smiled. 
 
 Above a porch, deep carved within the grit 
 A pedant monk belaboured cogging boys, 
 
 With ' Disce, doce, aut discede ' writ 
 Beneath for legend. Often simple joys 
 
 Refreshen skill, and thus in sportive vein 
 
 The sculptor monk entabled learning's pain. 
 
 Alas for pity ! Windows wrecked and bare, 
 Walls grimed by fierce explosive, since no force 
 
 Of sinewy arm or iron sledge could tear 
 The bonded mass asunder, or the course 
 
 Of ruin run till fiery flame had set 
 
 Its scathing seal on wall and parapet. 
 
 4 
 
50 Lilian Lane. 
 
 Ah me ! How oft at foot of teacher monk 
 The youngling here had hearkened legend old 
 
 Of saint or martyr, while weak childhood shrunk 
 Aghast from tale of horror, trembling told 
 
 By some, ordained themselves ere long to know 
 
 Attaint of ill and chastening of woe ! 
 
 Nor seldom, too, would Abbot Robert come 
 Among them gracious, with uplifted hand 
 
 Bestowing blessing, while all knelt, and some, 
 Thereafter bold, oft-granted boon demand 
 
 Of grace from task, with leave awhile to rove 
 
 Through garden, maze, or nearer woodland grove. 
 
 So nevermore ! Yet as he stood there rang 
 Serene and clear the soft-toned sanctus-bell. 
 
 He started, doubtful. Whence the silenced clang 
 That filled his ear, like throb of funeral knell ? 
 
 What impious hand dare mime at awful cost 
 
 The solemn lifting of the atoning Host ? 
 
 The choir indeed was but a wreck the roof 
 Agape and robbed of rafter, joist, and lead ; 
 
 Yet worse within, where pillaged tombs gave proof 
 How sharp-set greed could spoil the very dead, 
 
 And Christian nobles scatter saintly bones, 
 
 And grope for gold in graves and charnel stones. 
 
Lilian Lane. 51 
 
 Amid the wreck a workman stood and tolled 
 For sport the bell, while others jested nigh. 
 
 By righteous rage inspired, of horror bold, 
 
 The lad stood forth, with loud and wrathful cry : 
 
 ' What do ye, madmen ? Doubly mad to tempt 
 
 Your outraged God to visit base contempt !' 
 
 They drave him thence with laughter, floutings, blows. 
 
 ' 'Tis but the shavelings' minion come again. 
 Goodlack ! how loud the monken fledgling crows, 
 
 The oldsters gone from out their goodly den !' 
 So laughed they, scornful, mating evil speech 
 With stripes from aught that lay to hand or reach. 
 
 With bursting heart the lad escaped beyond 
 The convent precincts. In the hither mead 
 
 He threw him down against the Lenten pond, 
 Whose finny tenants, wont to welcome tread 
 
 And call, drew near, but rose and plashed in vain 
 
 The hands that fed should feed them ne'er again. 
 
 There lay the lad devoured by bitter thought, 
 Till in his dream there mingled chiding voice, 
 
 Whose tones were music, sweet as lark's untaught 
 Of bars and cage, whose gladsome notes rejoice 
 
 The wayworn trav'ler, lonely, longing sore 
 
 For joys of home, scarce counted joys before. 
 
52 Lilian Lane. 
 
 Beside the boy there knelt a maiden, meet 
 For poet's song or painter's mimic pen, 
 
 Full like the lad that grovelled at her feet ; 
 But older, fairer, lovely queen of men ; 
 
 Like Francis crowned with chevelure of gold, 
 
 That falling met her kirtle's swelling fold. 
 
 And ' Francis, cease, dear brother, cease to grieve,' 
 She gently said, and kissed his angry brow ; 
 
 ' 'Tis idle sorrow, when comes ne'er reprieve, 
 All things to storm do wisely bend and bow. 
 
 The king himself decreed the thing should be ; 
 
 Who, then, can thwart or let his high decree ?' 
 
 ' The king !' he cried in angry scorn ; ' his King 
 Decrees him traitor to his kingly trust. 
 
 Last night, in dream, I saw an angel wing 
 His way to earth, while abject in the dust 
 
 Lay king and council. Down they grovelling fell 
 
 Abashed aghast as fiends at holy spell.' 
 
 ' Hush, hush, dear Francis ! Did knee-crooking knave 
 But hear your madness, we were both undone. 
 
 Recall the reed that Abbot Robert gave 
 Us both at parting. Patient hope in One, 
 
 In whom all things do centre, right or wrong ; 
 
 By whom wax warriors weak, and striplings strong.' 
 
Lilian Lane. 53 
 
 ' And striplings strong !' the lad exclaimed ; ' would I 
 Were man to meet him in his royal place 
 
 Foretell his fate, as when I saw him lie 
 
 All terror-struck before the archangel's face ; 
 
 Denounce his crimes -' But here a stern voice bade 
 
 The boy be silent, and alarmed the maid, 
 
 Who rose dismayed. Against a neighbouring tree 
 He frowning stood, whose aspect chilled her blood. 
 
 Appalled she knelt, and whispering, ' It is he !' 
 Embraced her brother. ' Now, by holy rood, 
 
 No help have we, dear lad, but in the Lord 
 
 The king himself has heard our every word !' 
 
 The boy sprang up with flashing eye, but all 
 His courage failed in face of tiger wrath. 
 
 So torrent flood and noisy mountain fall 
 Are lost in sea. Across the grassy path 
 
 The despot strode, his cruel face aflame, 
 
 And bade the boy declare his place and name. 
 
 But he was silent, fear, with rage at fear, 
 
 Restraining speech. Again the tyrant cried, 
 
 The while his minions noiseless gathered near. 
 Ungentle they, nor slow to serve his pride, 
 
 Yet some were moved to pity, when the maid 
 
 A sheltering clasp about her brother laid. 
 
54 Lilian Lane. 
 
 And meaning looks they cast. Too sweet and fair 
 Was she by far to meet the greedy look 
 
 Of him who yet was never known to spare 
 
 Or maid or wife ; whose pride could never brook 
 
 Resistance in a subject ; whose fell mocd, 
 
 Once roused, was ne'er abated but with blood. 
 
 Now outspake one, yet careful : ' These, my lord, 
 Are gentle children, but betimes the boy 
 
 Is sprite-possessed. They dwell against the ford ; 
 Your highness may remember old Mountjoy 
 
 There pulled down quarry yester-eve. 'Tis said 
 
 There's fairy seal upon the youngster's head.' 
 
 ' So ! Is it so ?' the king replied, his brow 
 Relaxing at the fable. ' By the Mass ! 
 
 The wench is comely. Let the losel go. 
 
 Nay, now, good Denny ; I would speak the lass. 
 
 Soft there, my sweeting, leave yon lout awhile ; 
 
 The king, methinks, may claim of right a smile.' 
 
 Our lord the king ! what subject dare gainsay 
 His word or will ? Her angel face she raised 
 
 With pleading look, her bosom's trem'lous play 
 Betraying fear. With greedy eye he gazed 
 
 Again and yet again, while plain to view 
 
 Unhallowed longing in his gazing grew. 
 
Lilian Lane. 55 
 
 Beneath his look she trembled like to fawn 
 
 Wolf-charmed, that fears, yet harmless knows not why 
 
 Or what the danger, all its nature drawn 
 
 To instinct dread. So looked she modest, shy, 
 
 Her soft eyes full of mild entreaty, while 
 
 His answered madly, full of pride and guile : 
 
 ' So ! that is better. Sooth, I never knew 
 Our Waltham woods contained such goodly deer ; 
 
 His chase in sight, the hunter must pursue. 
 Sweet wench, a kiss. Nay, ne'er show sluttish fear. 
 
 Well, hark away, chaste quarry, yet that lip, 
 
 So ruddy ripe, enticeth lover sip.' 
 
 He now made sign that spake the king ; the maid 
 With low obeisance quickly drew aside, 
 
 And with her drew her brother, as afraid 
 
 He yet might wake the vengeful tyrant's pride ; 
 
 With evil smile the king beheld them go, 
 
 Then strode away with dark and knitted brow. 
 
 III. 
 
 Within the wood, removed a little way 
 
 From town and convent, nigh a saucy brook 
 
 That, dancing into being, laughed at day, 
 And joyous fled by thymy knoll and nook, 
 
 There stood a grange, age-bowed, with girdling stream 
 
 That flowed around with dark and sullen gleam. 
 
56 Lilian Lane. 
 
 Yet lilies grew, and spread within the pool, 
 
 Their snow cups floating large amid their leaves ; 
 
 And mouse-ear near the bank, with parsley fool ; 
 And loosestrife tall, with gladwyn's golden sheaves, 
 
 And mint that matted all the bank ; and weed 
 
 Obscure a host, that gained but little heed. 
 
 And over all a bridge with massy piers, 
 
 And slender arch scarce lift above the moat 
 
 In lieu of drawbridge, long removed, that years 
 Of peace made irksome. Nigh the bridge a boat 
 
 That floated idly where the lilies lay, 
 
 And in it Lilian, pure and chaste as they. 
 
 Her little hands, among the snow cups set, 
 Drew slowly to her side the blossoms fair ; 
 
 Some few she chose by way of coronet, 
 
 First kissed, then wound the wildings in her hair, 
 
 Her fair face kindling, and her azure eyes, 
 
 Love's mirrors, full of tender sympathies. 
 
 And ' Holy Mary, how the world is bright !' 
 
 She thoughtful said ; ' what love her blessed Son 
 
 Must carry earth, to fashion such delight 
 For careless eyes and hearts so hardly won ! 
 
 I' faith, sith earth doth show such braggart wise, 
 
 How wondrous fair His own bright paradise !' 
 
Lilian Lane. 57 
 
 Through forest rift the sun, with ruddy glare, 
 Shone full and low ; it kissed her virgin cheek 
 
 To summer glow, and dyed her glossy hair 
 To deeper gold. No longer maiden meek, 
 
 But vestal priestess, robed with hallowing flame, 
 
 She seemed, and pure beyond attaint of shame. 
 
 So he confessed that stood beside the stream 
 With clouded brow, and marked her guileless play 
 
 With leaf and lily. Not yet maiden dream 
 Of love indulged, with mild complaisant sway 
 
 O'er manly hearts ; each impulse of her breast 
 
 Calm, chaste, and clear as babe's in cratchet nest. 
 
 'Twas he who friended Francis other while. 
 
 Now stepping forth, he called the girl by name ; 
 She startling heard, then turned with sunny smile 
 
 Her glowing face that way the summons came, 
 And merry laughed : ' Sir godsire, will you wear 
 My badge to-day, a lily light as air?' 
 
 A bloom she plucked, and cast it lightly o'er 
 The wat'ry marge ; he raised it to his lips, 
 
 Then, as recalled to purpose pressing sore 
 For quick solution, answered gravely, ' Quips 
 
 Are folly now, so, Lilian, lay them by. 
 
 When fowlers snare, the turtle needs must fly. 
 
58 Lilian Lane. 
 
 1 Ay, cease to toy with simples ! There is one, 
 My child, would toy in otherwise with thee 
 
 Tis deathly pastime, therefore get thee gone 
 Ere night, and keep thee close at Nazing Lea ! 
 
 Hist, girl, more near ! This very night the king 
 
 Intends thee aught but harmless visiting. 
 
 ' So get thee gone with Francis, ere the night 
 Garbs evil thought with opportune of gloom. 
 
 But keep my counsel. Mine were sorry plight 
 Perchance unheaded shoulders, bloody tomb 
 
 Did Henry wot I sped forestalling bolt, 
 
 And warned his quarry out of Waltham holt !' 
 
 So whispered he. With shame and fear she heard, 
 Yet nothing answered ; only in her eyes 
 
 He read resolve, that needed never word 
 For full expression steadfast will that dies 
 
 Alone with dying. Never tyrant's slave 
 
 Were Lilian Lane, while earth had stainless grave. 
 
 ' Bestir thee, Lilian ! Show thy father's child ! 
 
 Ill fell the hap that took him yestermorn 
 To shire assize, yet worse that I beguiled 
 
 The king to linger. Never's rose but thorn ! 
 Would God the manor lay beneath the sea, 
 Ere harm, dear heart, should light on thee by me ! 
 
Lilian Lane. 59 
 
 ' And now farewell ! Keep close ! The danger past, 
 I'll send thee word when thou mayst safe return." 
 
 He kissed her cheek, she faintly smiled ; at last 
 
 Came faltering speech : ' Fear not, good friend, I 
 spurn 
 
 Unholy wooing ! Yet 'twere best to flee 
 
 Unharmed, than prove King Henry's courtesy.' 
 
 Her godsire gone, she hastened in, and soon 
 Prepared for flight, stood eager by the gate ; 
 
 Why came not Francis? He at close of noon 
 
 Had sought the woodland. Now 'twas growing late, 
 
 The western sky o'erspread with crimson light, 
 
 And purple eve forerunning sable night. 
 
 She waited long, her breast aglow with shame, 
 Her heart fast beating, while encroaching fear 
 
 Thrilled every nerve. Would God that Francis came ! 
 Now Hesper flamed, and danger drawing near 
 
 Tongued every leaf, and voiced each brook and rill 
 
 To wake in her, sweet child ! responsive thrill. 
 
 Made bold of gloom, the owl with dismal hoot 
 
 Alarmed the wood ; the night-hawk weirdly chirred; 
 
 From out the pool, disturbed, the timid coot 
 Flew darkling upward. Sure the forest stirred 
 
 With step of stranger ! Cold and pale of fright, 
 
 She, trembling, fled for refuge in the night. 
 
60 Lilian Lane. 
 
 Unfollowed, soon her courage came again ; 
 
 'Twas like that Francis loitered by the brook 
 That lapped the minster. Now a laden wain 
 
 Slow creaking by, she, grateful, comfort took 
 From honest presence ; close within the sound 
 She kept, yet fearful, often gazing round. 
 
 The convent wall now rose to view. She sighed : 
 ' Alas ! were Abbot Robert but within, 
 
 How gladly would the holy father hide 
 His whilom charge from pursuance of sin ! 
 
 Distressful change ! Now royal might is right ; 
 
 No convent aid awaits unhappy wight !' 
 
 No sound arose but distant roister shout 
 From roadside inn or township hostelry, 
 
 With swir of ash that lithely tossed about 
 Its yellowing tufts in aimless revelry. 
 
 Not far away the ruined minster stood 
 
 Dark, lifeless, dull, fit home for ghostly brood. 
 
 With hasty hand she made the holy sign 
 
 On breast and brow, then stealthy made her way 
 
 Toward the ruins. Shapes unseen, benign, 
 
 Guard now her harmless footsteps. Sanct array 
 
 Befriend her, helpless ! Hark ! what descant rude 
 
 Assails her ear, and shocks night's solitude ? 
 
Lilian Lane. 61 
 
 See, torches flame ! Amid their yellow glare 
 There treads the causey merry-making crew ; 
 
 And in their midst alas ! what did he there ? 
 Her brother guarded'! Spellbound, full in view 
 
 She stood, nor further thought of self or flight, 
 
 In fear for him and his untoward plight. 
 
 Too soon perceived of all, loud laughter broke 
 Anew the night. Then over all a cry 
 
 Rang sharply out, and Francis wildly spoke : 
 ' Fly, Lilian, fly ! Think not of me, but fly ! 
 
 There's harm against thee.' Fearless as to cost, 
 
 Thus much he cried, with more in clamour lost. 
 
 Now came the king, and did the trembling maid 
 Half mocking reverence ' Marry, then, fair quest, 
 
 You save some seeking.' So he blandly said 
 With careless smile, then haughty bade the rest 
 
 Halt by the stream, which done, a space apart 
 
 He drew the maid, with base and villain heart, 
 
 And sought to kiss her lips. But with a cry 
 
 She brake away, through grant of helpful strength 
 
 From angel guard. Enraged he saw her fly 
 
 Tow'rds Harold's bridge, and followed scarce a length 
 
 Behind ; but fleet as startled bird on wing 
 
 Of fear she fled, and soon outran the king. 
 
62 Lilian Lane. 
 
 She gained the bridge, but looking back to know 
 Herself escaped, her foot slipped and she fell. 
 
 By dread aroused, though* blinded with the blow, 
 She stagg'ring rose. Ah me ! what tongue shall tell 
 
 The power that led the fainting girl so near 
 
 The starlit stream that washed the flinty pier. 
 
 Again a fall a cry the waters close, 
 
 And, weirdly murmuring, tell no further tale ; 
 But, horror stricken, well the tyrant knows 
 
 What bleeding lies beneath their gleamy veil. 
 ' Ho ! lights and men ! Quick, knaves ! your heads shall 
 
 pay 
 For laggard help or ill-conceived delay.' 
 
 They drew her forth a lily on her brow, 
 
 Self-twined. Sweet Lilian, loveliest flower of all, 
 
 Her tresses dank and tangled, living glow 
 Gone evermore ! Ah, sad yet welcome pall ! 
 
 And stream more kind than stony heart, that bade 
 
 Death's gate unbar to shield the gentle maid. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Escaped, the stag regains the thorny brake, 
 And panting lies, concealed in ferny bed ; 
 
 The hounds, athirst, their baffled fever slake 
 At rushy spring ; the jaded hunters spread 
 
 Their evening meal, with glaive and staff and horn 
 
 Laid idle by at foot of beech and thorn. 
 
Lilian Lane. 63 
 
 Alone, apart, from ardour of the chase, 
 
 From hounds and men, the king at length drew rein 
 Beside an oak of mighty growth, whose base 
 
 Usurped the hill, and overeyed the plain, 
 Where, red-roofed, dim, 'neath evening's purple crown, 
 Mid stream and tree, reposed the quiet town. 
 
 He wound his horn, but scarce the cheerful call 
 Had roused the woodland echoes out of sleep, 
 
 To make reply all dreamily, and fall 
 Again to rest, than out the welkin steep 
 
 Fierce lightning leaping, cleft low-hanging cloud, 
 
 And shook the holt with thundering long and loud. 
 
 'Twas lightning such the wood was all ablaze 
 
 With flood of fire, and murmuring shrank from flame 
 
 That living leaped. Earth plainly shook. By craze 
 Of terror moved, one wildly loud acclaim 
 
 Uprose from bird and beast, then silence fell 
 
 Profound as death o'er plain and crest and dell. 
 
 Again the bolt leaped out its lurid crown, 
 
 And scarce the king could curb his steed for awe. 
 
 Heart smitten now, a neighbouring oak came down 
 With rend and rush and crash that shook the shaw ; 
 
 Supreme in ruin as in girth profound, 
 
 The falling monarch spread destruction round. 
 
64 Lilian Lane. 
 
 The king's gaze set upon the tree, there came 
 Unseen a youth from out the nearer wood. 
 
 'Twas Francis, madness in his look, and flame 
 Of frenzy in his bearing. Full he stood 
 
 Before the king, and fearless bade him hear 
 
 Malefic doom and retribute severe. 
 
 ' Accurst of all, and callous as the sea, 
 That aye devours and yet is never full ; 
 
 And never worn of wanton cruelty, 
 
 But brooding ill while waves and winds are dull ; 
 
 Here would I slay thee, strong in righteous hate, 
 
 Did not thy God decree severer fate. 
 
 ' So live thou on, earth's malison ! Fulfil 
 Thy course unclean, like pestilential star 
 
 That banes in flight, and, failing, darkens still 
 Men's lives in dying. Tyrant ! better far 
 
 Thy bloody axe and dungeon grave forlorn, 
 
 Than lifelong hate and unborn ages' scorn. 
 
 ' Ay, frown at will ! Hark yonder thunder roll, 
 That shuddering earth repeats in hollow tone ! 
 
 Thou know'st it well, for, monster, in thy soul 
 
 Thou hear'st again thine ordnance' murd'rous groan 
 
 That told thee Boleyn died, her guiltless head 
 
 Laid low to smooth adult'rous bridal bed ! 
 
Lilian Lane. 65 
 
 ' Mark, too, yon flame, o'erleaping Waltham tower, 
 Where, snatched from thee, thy latest victim lies. 
 
 All powerful thou, and soulless in thy power, 
 
 What friend but death dare thwart thy tyrannies ? 
 
 Thine, tyrant, thine, to bid sweet Lilian die ; 
 
 Thine, fiend, the curse that fired her glazing eye ! 
 
 ' Fulfil thy fate, thou scourge of earth and bane 
 Of all things good. In lust and blood and crime 
 
 Fulfil it ; then find Herod's doom. Attain 
 To death in life ; and, noisome in thy prime, 
 
 Call death in vain, while demons shrink aghast 
 
 To know hell pain by mortal pang surpast. 
 
 ' Then die to glad thy people by thy death, 
 And lift a load from off a nation's heart, 
 
 Thy name recalled with loathing, bated breath, 
 And curse in utterance. Tyrant, thine the part 
 
 To show that earth can rival hell in ill, 
 
 And demons vile, yet kings be viler still.' 
 
 The lightning sprang, the thunder shook the roof 
 Of listening heaven. The lad with gesture wild 
 
 Exulted loudly : ' Murd'rer ! 'tis approof 
 
 Of Lilian's curse. Now live, thy soul beguiled 
 
 From ill to ill, till, all thy crimes complete, 
 Thou goest hence to retribution meet.' 
 
 5 
 
66 Lilian Lane. 
 
 He turned and fled. The tyrant, sore amazed, 
 Nor sought nor thought to intercept his flight, 
 
 But haggard smiled. ' In sooth the lout is crazed !' 
 He muttered fearful, then from lowering night 
 
 And fury-storm turned homeward, evermore 
 
 His stricken soul a prey to torments sore. 
 
 Beyond the sea in quiet cloister fane, 
 Unhavocked yet by royal spoilers' hand, 
 
 A little while there lingered Francis Lane, 
 
 To die ere manhood, far from home and land. 
 
 Too large his heart to bear life's sterner cross 
 
 Of blighted hopes, sharp grief, and bitter loss. 
 
 Soon Abbot Fuller died, his convent home 
 
 Become a mine whence all men quarried stones ; 
 
 Contented still through faith in Him whence come 
 Both good and ill, he calmly slept, his bones 
 
 Laid reverent to their rest, where priests still lift 
 
 To prayerful lips love's last benignant gift. 
 
 But oft of night within the chapel old 
 
 Our Lady's, spoiled of all its ancient show 
 
 A tonsured priest and lad with locks of gold 
 Are seen absorbed in converse sad and low, 
 
 While dirge-like, soft, unearthly numbers rise, 
 
 And fill the church with wailful symphonies. 
 
Lilian Lane. 67 
 
 And Lilian Lane beside the murmuring stream 
 Is seen full oft when stars give misty light, 
 
 And mead and tree show ghostly in the gleam 
 
 The crescent moon affords the new-throned Night 
 
 To Harold's bridge will come, then fearful look 
 
 In haste behind, and vanish in the brook. 
 
 And still at night, when winter blast and gale 
 Entice to warmth within the hostel's glow, 
 
 The din of song and laughter hushed, the tale 
 Of Lilian sweet is told in accents low ; 
 
 While honest rage each rustic bosom fires 
 
 To scorn of greed and hate of base desires. 
 
 PLEASURES. 
 
 A ROOM full of books, and a bickering fire, 
 Rain on the pane, and the wuthering gale, 
 
 Turbulent, petulant, twisting the briar, 
 Bowing the willows and shaking the pale. 
 
 Sweet ! But my spirit is aching for more, 
 
 A face at my knee that is gone evermore. 
 
 A song that is sweet and a tale that is told 
 Breathless in gloom that is eerie with blaze ; 
 
 A strain that is struck from a harpsichord old, 
 Whirling of maidens in waltz and in maze. 
 
 Sweet ! But my spirit is aching for more, 
 
 A voice that by me shall be heard nevermore. 
 
68 Pleasures. 
 
 Tossing of bumper and kissing of cup, 
 Wine that is ruddy, or yellow as gold ; 
 
 Wit that is spiteless,' though wassailers sup, 
 Laughter invading Care's innermost hold. 
 
 Sweet ! But my spirit is aching for more, 
 
 A kiss from the lips that shall kiss nevermore. 
 
 A walk through a wood in the twilight, or glen 
 Eglantine sweet, that is honeyed as breath 
 
 Of paradise, open a moment that men 
 
 May mock at Life's phantom, impassionless Death. 
 
 Sweet ! But my spirit is aching for more, 
 
 A comrade whose converse is lost evermore. 
 
 A grave in God's acre, 'neath cypress and yew, 
 Apart from the pompous, the wealthy, and proud ; 
 
 Restful for ever 'neath daisy and dew, 
 Happy befreed from intolerant crowd. 
 
 Sweet ! Ah, but sweeter my bliss evermore, 
 
 Asleep with my sweeting to wake nevermore. 
 
 REVERIE. 
 
 THOUGHTFUL seated at rny casement, 
 
 All the world beside asleep ; 
 Placid Night her courtier phalanx 
 
 Radiant leading out the deep. 
 Many things I thought, but chiefly, 
 
 Mystery of mysteries Life ! 
 All its chances, all its changes ; 
 
 All its failures, all its strife. 
 
Reverie. 69 
 
 Strife of Wealth with wan-cheeked Labour, 
 
 Olive Peace with warrior wreath : 
 Vice and Shame with stern-faced Virtue, 
 
 Med'cine, Christlike, grappling Death ; 
 Mis'ry matched with wasteful splendour, 
 
 Poverty agrip with Greed ; 
 Love with Hate, content with Envy, 
 
 Callous Gain with griping Need. 
 
 Sudden woke the wind, and, fresh'ning, 
 
 Shook the woodland, till its roar 
 Filled the air, like ocean breaking 
 
 Rageful o'er rock-bonded shore ; 
 And within my soul there sounded, 
 
 Loud and clear as clarion call, 
 Echo-answer to the problem, 
 
 Holding mind and thought in thrall : 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye that press a gilded throne, 
 
 And proudly view from far your people's state ; 
 Too high uplift to hear their often moan, 
 
 To catch their curse, or harrowing scowl of hate ; 
 Who, flatt'ry-fed, persuade yourselves that ye 
 Are gods, and godlike, lords of destiny : 
 
 The glass is turned, its sands are well-nigh run 
 Grains, grains, a grain, and all your day is done ! 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye that crowd about the stool 
 Of purpled clown or tyrant meanly met 
 
 To cringe and fawn, or be he knave or fool ; 
 To play the part of pander ; eager set 
 
70 Reverie. 
 
 To varnish shame, to pamper pride and lust 
 
 Intemp'rate all to hail him wise and just : 
 
 The glass is turned, its sands are well-nigh run 
 Grains, grains, a grain, and all your day is done ! 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye fine-linened, at your ease, 
 
 That delicately fare from day to day ; 
 Who compass earth yourselves alone to please, 
 Nor care who else shall fall beside the way ; 
 Fast harnessed to your car, so ye may glide, 
 Unvexed adown to ye Life's crimson tide : 
 
 The glass is turned, its sands are well-nigh run 
 Grains, grains, a grain, and all your day is done ! 
 
 Ye. ye there ! ye that grind the helpless poor, 
 
 And sweat and starve your brethren ; in the mire 
 Your sisters trampling, so your warehouse floor 
 
 May higher heap what matter though they hire 
 Their bodies out for bread ? Your daughters grow 
 The richer for their mis'ry, shame, and woe : 
 
 The glass is turned, its sands are well-nigh run 
 Grains, grains, a grain, and all your day is done ! 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye that live to toil, and pray 
 
 For death, whose lives are less than that of beast ; 
 Death-weary ye that chide slow Night's delay, 
 
 And sighing see the gilding of the east : 
 Whose loftiest hope, whose dream, whose heav'n, is rest ; 
 That but attained, oh how supremely blest ! 
 
 The glass is turned, its sands are well-nigh run 
 Grains, grains, a grain, and all your toil is done ! 
 
Reverie. 71 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye whose coward spirits quail 
 
 At thunder-clap of evil or annoy ; 
 Who dare no hero deed, who craven fail 
 At trumpet-call of duty, wide the buoy 
 Of danger steering up ye, up and do 
 Your part in earth's stern warfare ! Up ! or rue 
 The turning of the glass. Its sandlets run 
 Swift, swift, and swift ! Full soon your day is done ! 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye whose lofty souls are set 
 
 To crusade right Godlike to battle wrong ; 
 Who sternly smite at ill wherever met, 
 
 And traverse life triumphant, zealous, strong 
 Your warrior course a beacon blazing high, 
 That craft and greed and lust abhorrent fly : 
 
 No glass ye need, for you no sandlets run 
 Earth, heav'n, or heav'ns, your day is never done ! 
 
 Ye, ye there ! ye whose flashing pinions fright 
 
 The shrinking sky, as lightning-winged ye speed, 
 With captain message from the Lord of light 
 
 To them that wage life's warfare be their creed 
 Whate'er it may so but they wrestle on, 
 Stout-souled till all the fight be fought and won : 
 
 Speed forth, speed forth, ye helpful host, and bring 
 Love, love, and love, upon your ardent wing ! 
 
THE NAIL. 
 
 I. 
 
 JESSAMINE, jessamine, sparkling with dew, 
 
 That clingeth my casement and peepeth athrough, 
 
 Say not what thou seest, I pray 
 If kisses a score on his picture I set, 
 Or nightly my pillow with pearly tears wet, 
 
 My sweetheart so far, far away ! 
 
 Gillyflower, 'gillyflower, yellow as gold, 
 Wall-sentinel hardy, and watchful, and bold, 
 
 That challenges! tempest and gale, 
 Bid now the breeze tarry and question him straight, 
 Where lingers my lover, such long time belate ? 
 
 What hinders his home-turning sail ? 
 
 Rosemary, rosemary, on to his breast 
 
 A spriglet I fastened, first kissed and carest, 
 
 For surer remembrance and stay ! 
 Say, has he forgotten ? Ah me ! can it be 
 That seamen are fickle as ocean and sea, 
 
 Unfaithful as billow and spray ? 
 
 Thus Hester Turvil, while with careful hand 
 She twined the lissom jasmine's sinuous spray 
 About her lattice. Bright the morn, and bland 
 The summer breeze while scent of upturned hay 
 
The Nail. 73 
 
 Or sweltering cock came o'er the Redriff mead. 
 
 The girl was fair, with eyes of honest gray, 
 
 That, questioned, answered, fearless ; hair that spread 
 
 Unhindered down her cheek and neck, and lay 
 
 Curled on her bosom like to babe asleep. 
 
 Wide open was the casement, and her face 
 
 Was all to view, with borderage of deep 
 
 And glossy green, that, as it would embrace 
 
 Her beauty, bent now here and there adown ; 
 
 While pendent o'er her head a milky way 
 
 Of star-white blossoms made befitting crown, 
 
 For maiden pure as Dian's famed array. 
 
 The house was small, but set in larger ground 
 That verged upon the down not yet a name, 
 But ample, breezy. Past its northern bound, 
 Thames calmly flowing by was all aflame 
 With kiss of Phoebus. Slowly down the stream 
 A privateer swept graceful. On her mast, 
 High perched, o'er sail, and yard, and stay supreme, 
 A shipman waved adieu ; while half aghast, 
 Half proud, his sweetheart stood upon the bank, 
 And, tearful, shook her kerchief in reply. 
 Now music brake upon her deck. Down sank 
 Fair Hester's hands ; her heart with heavy sigh 
 Swelled as she gazed, and fell and swelled again, 
 As tear on tear bedewed the lattice sill. 
 ' So parted we ! How long it seems ! The pain 
 Aye wakes within me, spite of pride and will, 
 
74 The Nail. 
 
 Whene'er each goodly vessel, venture rife, 
 Glides down to dare the hazard of the sea, 
 With added foeman's hate to wail of wife, 
 Or heart-broke sweetheart's keener misery ! 
 
 ' Raleigh could home, and home to cruel doom ! 
 
 And he could come, how canst thou still delay ? 
 
 What spell so lurks in horrid ordnance boom, 
 
 Or clash of steel on biter-steel, to sway 
 
 Beyond the charm of home, or wife, or love ? 
 
 Why didst thou leave me ? what and thou wert poor ! 
 
 Enough was mine to lift us far above 
 
 The need to scrape, or shut unkindly door 
 
 On hungry wand'rer !' 
 
 So the maiden sighed, 
 And all her gaze upon the river gleam, 
 And ship, slow-moving o'er opposing tide, 
 Down to the hapful ocean's broader stream 
 Knew not herself observed until a voice 
 Manly and pleasant brake upon her ear. 
 ' Good-morrow, Mistress Hester ! other choice 
 I had not than to seek the garden rear. 
 So long I rapped unheeded at the door !' 
 Out of her dream awaked, the maid looked down, 
 Then courteous : ' Good-morrow, Master Moore,' 
 Made answer, yet with shadow of a frown 
 Upon her face, like cloud at eve, awhile 
 Dimming the brow of Cynthia, but to melt 
 Erelong within the virgin goddess' smile. 
 Thus on the maiden's brow the shadow dwelt 
 An instant and was gone. 
 
The Nail. 75 
 
 ' I'll come anon,' 
 
 She added smiling, as she did repent 
 Her first vexation. Yet again, where shone 
 The moving ship, a wistful look she bent 
 While gently drawing to the latticed pane, 
 Then snail-paced came to greet unwelcome guest 
 Unwelcome most of all as would-be swain, 
 Importunate in parley as in quest. 
 
 Her parents dead, the maiden dwelt alone 
 Her only brother erewhile drowned at sea 
 With sturdy Hal the gardener, and Joan 
 His wife, for housely guard and company. 
 Well dowered beyond the hazard of her birth, 
 Her gold attracted some, yet more herself ; 
 Her beauty justly held of greater worth, 
 With virtue than her store of meaner wealth. 
 Of these was Moore the stapler ; well-to-do 
 Himself, she knew him honest in his suit ; 
 A proper man withal, complacent, too, 
 In speech, if proud as ran the common bruit. 
 
 His suit she had refused, for Richard Gray 
 Had won her heart ; and who could blame the maid ? 
 Tall was the youth, with frame compact, where lay 
 Strength without tyranny ; and eyes, where played 
 God's light of truth incessant ; lips that smiled 
 But seldom, and the most part firm comprest, 
 Gave pledge of resolution, and beguiled 
 The more by smiling like to dewy crest 
 
76 The Nail. 
 
 Of rose, that, wooed to opening by the ray, 
 Unveils her virgin glories, trembling oft 
 At kiss of beam and all unused play 
 Of breeze amid her blushing petals soft. 
 
 But Gray was poor. Long time he silence kept 
 While many a meaner urged less truthful tale ; 
 Till one day, playful chidden, ardour swept 
 Away restraint, like leaves in autumn gale, 
 And burning lips spake burning words that shook 
 His soul in utterance. 
 
 Naught did Hester speak, 
 
 But tremulous smiled with shy and tearful look ; 
 Which seen, he snatched her to his breast her cheek, 
 Her hair, her lips, with kisses overstrewn. 
 ' Sweet love, sweet love, long time I held aloof !' 
 He whispered after, rapture sober grown. 
 ' None loving, sure, as I, for fear reproof, 
 As being poor, should shame me, did I dare 
 Lift lover eyes to beauty rightly dowered ! 
 Nor dared I now, perchance, but that I fare 
 To-morrow to the main, with Master Howard, 
 Who joins ship with Sir Walter !' 
 
 Hester here 
 
 Made mild remonstrance : ' Richard, sweetheart, nay, 
 You must not go. 'Twere coward part to fear 
 W T hat jealous tongues, of envy barbed, may say !' 
 But Gray was firm. ' I may not wed you, sweet, 
 Till first I prove what Fortune has in store 
 For noble leaders and a gallant fleet 
 On famed Guiana's wild but golden shore !' 
 
The Nail. 77 
 
 And so they parted. When the fleet returned, 
 Gray came not, but, as rumour ran, had gone 
 With others, who the thought of home had spurned 
 Till wealth was theirs in one small bark alone 
 Far south, resolved to prove the Spanish main. 
 This told to Hester, first vexation filled 
 The maiden's breast ; till love erelong with pain 
 And pride at war, full soon resentment stilled. 
 The matter known to Moore, again his suit 
 He eager pleaded ; would not take gainsay, 
 Intent to prove the saw, ' Love's golden fruit 
 He plucks that's present ; failure waits delay.' 
 Yet made he never progress. Full a year 
 Close siege he laid, but Hester aye withstood 
 Siege and pursuit. Yet did he persevere, 
 Resolved to win her or by ill or good. 
 
 So came he now, all overjoyed. for news 
 
 Had reached him of Gray's death but seemly yet, 
 
 And grave of aspect, like to him that views 
 
 Another's grief with semblance of regret. 
 
 And, ' Mistress Hester,' slowly he began, 
 
 With feigned reluctance, ' yester eve there came 
 
 Two seamen hither. Yet 'twere better plan 
 
 Yourself did hear their tale. They name a name 
 
 And matter such I dare not speak. Too well 
 
 Indeed I love, by word or look to wound.' 
 
 So said he crafty, pausing oft to swell 
 
 His words' importance. From her lips no sound 
 
 Came forth, though thrice they parted ; but her eyes 
 
78 The Nail. 
 
 Spake deadly fear, with cheek that blanched outdid 
 The jessamine for paleness. Soon, surprise 
 O'ercome, and sense of fallen evil chid, 
 She spake him coldly : ' I will see the men, 
 E'en as you wish, if you will comrade them.' 
 He gone with show of sorrow, woke again 
 The love-pang in her soul. Like lily stem, 
 Worm-furrowed, drooped she o'er the garden-bed, 
 Dismayed, and trembling oft with unknown fears. 
 Unheeded all, the cosset pansies spread 
 Their velvet pates ; she saw them not for tears. 
 Unconscious plucked, all vainly poured the clove 
 His breeze-enriching perfume ; unheard hummed 
 The bee o'er bloom ; unheard in lilac grove 
 The linnet cheerful sang. Her heart, benumbed 
 With prescience of evil, took no heed 
 Of song, or scent, or beauty. 
 
 'Gainst the wall 
 
 An arbour stood with bindweed canopied, 
 \Vhose chaliced blooms, heat-sweltered, 'gan to fall 
 In pride, and close their all too fragile bells. 
 Here Hester now retired, and sat her down 
 At sound of nearing footsteps. Sudden swells 
 Her bosom as 'twould rend its gaoler gown. 
 She, shivering, sighed. But now the shipmen nigh, 
 Too proud the common herd should mark her pain, 
 She rose to meet them, making fit reply 
 To courteous salutation, yet was fain 
 To claim the latticed arbour's friendly aid ; 
 Her little hand amid the trailing green 
 Hid where it clasped. 
 
The Nail. 79 
 
 Their court'sies o'er, these made 
 A pause as doubtful, till with steady mien 
 She bade them venture freely on their tale. 
 Then one began, not seldom to his mate 
 Turning for confirmation : ' Fray and gale 
 Had hindered so their project, 'twas but late 
 They made for England. Then at Plymouth stayed 
 Some while ere coasting up to London town. 
 Ill news they bore, and therefore had delayed 
 The telling of set purpose. Now adown 
 The river sailing with the eventide, 
 On other venture bent, they gathered heart 
 To tell the tale, they might not longer hide, 
 Of honour, since so soon they must depart.' 
 
 This given with often garnishing of oath 
 The mariner revealed how they and Gray 
 Had shipmates been, and afterward how both 
 Had fought beside him in a Spanish fray ; 
 Had seen him fall, and drawn him out the throng, 
 To know him smitten, and to death, by ball 
 From arquebuse. Here paused the sailor long 
 At sob from Hester, overcome, for all 
 Her will to conquer poignancy of loss. 
 Now Moore came forward : ' Hester, dearest, bear 
 The tidings like yourself; 'tis bitter cross : 
 Would I could bear it wholly, or might share !' 
 So said he softly, taking in his own 
 The little hand that cold as winter lay 
 Passive within his grasp. A sigh, a moan, 
 And now again herself. ' Now say your say, 
 Good friend, and quickly.' 
 
8o The Nail. 
 
 1 Nay, there's little more,' 
 The man rejoined ; ' he lies in shade of rock, 
 But this we took from off his neck. He wore 
 It aye as philtre. 'Tis a scissored lock 
 Of hair, sweet mistress.' 
 
 From his outstretched hand 
 She trembling took a dingy parchment twirl ; 
 Which, slowly freed from circling silken band, 
 Revealed, safe kept, a soft and glossy curl. 
 
 'Twas all he had to tell. A piece of gold 
 She gave him for a largess, and beside 
 For unkind tidings, not unkindly told, 
 A word or two of thanks ; then, downcast, hied 
 The house within to gratify her grief. 
 The seamen now retiring, further gift 
 Moore made them after converse low and brief- 
 Well pleased, th' event so fair for lover drift. 
 
 Her own love-pledge ! Now died within her soul 
 Doubting and hope. Long time with burning eyes 
 She gazed upon the ringlet, pearly dole 
 Of greeting falling as from April skies. 
 Such cruel ending to her dream ! Sweet maid, 
 The livelong day she dwelled upon the pledge, 
 Low sighing like to gust in summer glade, 
 Or breeze of autumn midst the dirgeful sedge. 
 
The Nail. 81 
 
 II. 
 
 A year was gone. Amid her shrubs and flowers 
 
 Sweet Hester Turvil sat. Physician Time, 
 
 All-healing leech, had charged the passing hours 
 
 With med'cine meet for heart-ache. Now the. chime 
 
 That, breaking out St. Olafs tower, along 
 
 The down swept joyous, waking all the bells 
 
 Of hollyhock and lily into song, 
 
 No longer jarred on sorrow. Softly swells 
 
 Her breast; she lists the merry clangour; drinks 
 
 The harmony of bell, and breeze, and leaf 
 
 With kindling eye and heart. Not seldom thinks 
 
 She still of Gray ; too deep her love for grief 
 
 To be but matter of an idle day, 
 
 Or easy laid aside, like winter glove, 
 
 At beam of spring or summer's early ray 
 
 Far otherwise did Hester Turvil love. 
 
 E'en now her thoughts were with him. Did he share 
 In his new home unchangeful, aught that woke 
 Within her thrill of pleasure ? More, could care, 
 Or aught that stirred life's lesser life, invoke 
 His soul to sympathy with earth and her? 
 Thus Hester, pensive, while the summer gale, 
 Made bold of beauty, harmless paramour, 
 Played with her curls and kissed her forehead pale. 
 
 A nearing footstep chasing thought, she turned 
 
 Her lovely head. 'Twas Moore. With quick'ning stride 
 
 And flashing eye, and cheek that ruddy burned, 
 
 He drew anear and sat him by her side. 
 
 6 
 
82 The Nail. 
 
 Persistent suitor through another year, 
 To him an age, he had been yet content, 
 Were he but in her thought, to prove and bear 
 Her every whim and mood ; till, sorrow spent, 
 Pursuit so patient, constant, should prevail 
 With aidance of maid instinct once again 
 To waken virgin fancies. 
 
 Such assail, 
 
 And subtle, aided by surcease of pain, 
 Began to tell, as sap and mine will fall 
 Full oft the fortress laughing storm to scorn. 
 Quick-eyed to see the change, more willing thrall 
 He showed than ever, till one lucky morn, 
 Not long agone, he won constrained consent 
 To plead, and soon thereafter ribbon pledge, 
 Part snatcht, part given ! 
 
 Returning Springtime lent 
 To lover fervour, fire ; and Summer, edge 
 Setting to passion, grew he resolute 
 To end and soon in all-forgetful flame 
 Of rapturous possession, endless suit. 
 And ' Hester, Hester, will you never name,' 
 He cried, his lover greeting scarcely o'er, 
 * The day to me as hither taste of heav'n ? 
 Was ever love as mine ? Could lover more 
 Than I, or give thee more than I have given 
 Of faithful service? List the jocund bells, 
 How sweet they peal around Each merry tongue 
 To me seems loud with call to love, compels 
 My soul to madness !' 
 
The Nail. 83 
 
 Thus he, while she hung 
 Her head irresolute, then, soft and low 
 As woodland whisper : ' Nay, far otherwise 
 The music speaks to me. 'Twas even now 
 The thought arose Can earth to Paradise 
 Fond greeting send, or thrill in mortal breast 
 Touch kindred chord in heav'n-contained ghost.' 
 Beyond him was the thought. His face confest 
 Perplexity and doubt. Then happy crost 
 His mind this thought, ' She thinks her still of Gray !' 
 So made her answer : ' All too great their joy, 
 Safe-havened souls, to share concern of clay, 
 Or otherwise their bliss would know alloy ! 
 How oft we spurn a present happiness 
 For fancied future good ; or let the mind 
 Out ancient ill beget new bitterness, 
 Fortune anigh with kindly hind to bind 
 Our grief-wounds up, and, wise physician, pour 
 A double meed of balsam in the gape. 
 This known, bethink you, Hester, how much more 
 Of grief were theirs than happiness ! Escape 
 There could be none from sorrow !' 
 
 This he said, 
 
 Then crafty turned the thought another way, 
 A short time silent first, with down-bent head, 
 As one that deeply brooded. ' Yet there may 
 Be cognisance, for some do so maintain. 
 But if so, then how much the greater need 
 Of surveillance in us to spare them pain, 
 Who painless else would have us equal freed ! 
 No marriage can be there ; but what hath earth 
 
84 The Nail. 
 
 Of larger bliss than pact of man and maid 
 
 Constrained thereto of love ? 'Tis said the birth 
 
 Of such is wrought in heaven by spirit aid. 
 
 I love you, Hester, dearly ; every thought 
 
 Bent to your worship ! Think you he you mourn 
 
 Would not the rather know you overfraught 
 
 With joy than still distressful and forlorn ?' 
 
 Much more he urged, with plaint, and sigh, and vow, 
 
 Till part o'erborne of vehemence, part won, 
 
 She answered as he wished. Who joyous now 
 
 As Moore, at last his weary suitage done ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Again a year, and Autumn 'gan to gild 
 
 The roadside maple and the o'erhanging elm ; 
 
 A plaintive song the restless robin trilled, 
 
 Fearful of sharp-fanged Winter, and the whelm 
 
 Of leafage ruin lurking in his train. 
 
 'Twas eve, but warm and calm, and Hester Moore 
 
 Sat with her babe, her pretty God-sent gain, 
 
 Beside an open window. 
 
 Slowly o'er 
 
 The grassy down eve's dusky phantoms spread 
 With shades amid the garden walks and trees. 
 Sweet was the air ; the dying leaves and dead 
 Sent up their damp cool fragrance. Scarce the breeze 
 Had strength to lift the lilac's thinning spray, 
 Or bear the garden odours out the pale. 
 Yet lingered in the west a golden ray, 
 Set in a field of purple. Eager tale 
 
The Nail. 85 
 
 Of nearing night one bright star told. The moon 
 Peeped out, and, peeping, sank her fretted horn 
 Amid the ruddy gloom. Benignant boon 
 Of sleep full oft to weary souls forlorn 
 Their one sad comfort, all beside denied 
 Calm night began to proffer loving-kind. 
 And Hester, bending o'er her babe, to chide 
 Had thought, the boy to sleeplessness inclined ; 
 But chid the thought instead and brake in song, 
 As mothers oft in whom the angel gift 
 Of song lies dormant, unrevealed for long, 
 Till infants lisping at their ears they lift 
 Responsive music. 
 
 In the fading light 
 A lullaby of pensive note she sang, 
 Unheedful in her task of nearing wight, 
 And the returning gate's discordant clang. 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep ! the bright day draws to end, 
 And starry girdled Night on tiptoe stands. 
 Nay, baby, nay ! the shadows deepening blend, 
 'Tis time for sleep ; lift not those pretty hands 
 Up to thy mother's lips, but, nuzzling, rest 
 Thy harmless head against her sheltering breast ! 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep ! what, not enough of day 
 For babeling stranger, all so late come forth 
 World-bourne unknown, to join dull earth's array? 
 Alas ! the venture was but little worth. 
 Come ! close those wondering eyes, the night is nigh ; 
 Sleep, sweet one, sleep to cratchet lullaby ! 
 
86 The Nail. 
 
 Sleep, darling, sleep ! ere long thou wilt be glad 
 If so may be to shut thy senses all 
 On garish earth's uneasy pleasures, clad 
 In bubble vesture, but the more to thrall ; 
 Wilt woo the sleep thou scornest now, to find 
 Sleep shun thee in her turn with vengeful mind ! 
 
 Ere long upon her breast the youngling slept, 
 And Hester gently laid him in his nest, 
 Thrice kissed his dimpled hand, and noiseless crept 
 Away to close the casement. In the west 
 Of purpled gold there yet remained a gleam, 
 Wherein outshone the amorous star of eve. 
 Her eyes drawn thither, sudden stifled scream 
 Brake from her fearful. 'Neath the casement eave 
 A man stood, mournful gazing. God ! 'twas ghost 
 Of Gray ! Aghast she clutched the oaken sill 
 And frightened gazed, all power of movement lost 
 In stupefaction both of mind and will ! 
 The figure moved, came nearer. Then the voice 
 She loved so well spake sadly : ' Hester, sweet, 
 I am no spirit ! yet might well rejoice 
 To be fordone of Spaniard than to greet 
 My love, and find her lost to me for aye.' 
 Now came back knowledge, saddest gift of all, 
 To Hester, anguish stricken. Sigh on sigh 
 Fled from her lips. She trembled as to fall, 
 But brave through all her misery, fought away 
 Her untold sorrow, and her shivering hand 
 Held forth in swift entreaty. 
 
The Nail. 87 
 
 ' Richard Gray ! 
 
 At home ! alive ! Not slain in foreign land ! 
 My love ! my love ! Ah, God ! my heart will break ; 
 They told me you were dead. Nay, brought me back 
 The curl I gave you, love, for love's sweet sake. 
 From off your neck they took it.' 
 
 ' Villains, black 
 
 And heartless, so to cozen trustful maid,' 
 Gray fiercely made reply. ' Dear heart, I know 
 The whole vile story. Sweet, you were betrayed 
 By him for whom you took the altar vow.' 
 
 Here Hester moaned in pain, her aching head 
 Laid low upon the sill. ' The men were not 
 With me, nor in the venture. That they said 
 Was false and planned by Moore a crafty plot 
 To win you to his wooing ; 'twas confest 
 Awhile ago on deathbed by the man 
 That spake you.' 
 
 Thus asserting, Gray caressed 
 The sorrow-stricken head. ' This much I can, 
 And may, my darling, ere I prove again- 
 The sea, by far less treacherous and bare 
 Of charity than man. Forget the pain 
 I bring you, Hester. For your sake I spare 
 The villain that has robbed me of the prize 
 I covet more than all the hidden gold 
 Of great Montsuma. Love, unclose those eyes ; 
 No thought of blame, but only love untold 
 For ever in my heart I bear thee still.' 
 
88 The Nail. 
 
 So pleaded he, each soft and glossy curl 
 Kissing again and yet again, until 
 She lift her head to ease its giddy whirl 
 A moment on his breast. 
 
 But now a cry 
 
 Came from the crib. She started back. ' Ah me ! 
 I am both wife and mother dare not lie 
 On other breast than his, who misery 
 Of miseries in God's own house I swore 
 To love and honour.' Here she bitter laughed, 
 Then cried : ' Oh, love, why cam'st thou not before, 
 Or why didst leave me ? 'Tis a deadly draught 
 For me, unfaithful ; yet two years I fought 
 Against his persecution. Richard, go ; 
 My heart is breaking. Hush thee, babe ! 'tis naught, 
 Thy mother watches. Mother ! Ah, the woe 
 Henceforth for me ! 
 
 Yet, Richard, go not yet ; 
 We ne'er must meet again. This kiss and this, 
 Begging forgiveness, on thy lips I set, 
 With thousand tears for suppliants. Set a kiss 
 In turn on mine, for sign thou dost forgive, 
 Then leave me and forget.' 
 
 ' Nay, Hester, nay ! 
 
 I leave thee since I must, but while I live 
 Fond thought of thee shall gird my every way. 
 I live but loving thee. God keep thee, sweet ! 
 Be happy an thou canst. This circlet twine 
 About thy bantling's neck, and should it meet 
 Thy husband's eye, then tell him 'tis for sign 
 Of peace between us for the sake of one 
 
The Nail. 89 
 
 Dear to us both, but doubly dear to me. 
 
 This also, darling ! Hester, I have done 
 
 The thing I sought to do am rich ; the sea 
 
 Was mine of wealth to me and some few more, 
 
 Who scorned return to England as we came, 
 
 But snatched a bark and cruised the Spanish shore. 
 
 Thereafter aided by the lucky fame 
 
 That all the English were returned again, 
 
 All unexpected we, town after town 
 
 We took, and one rich galleon on the main 
 
 A storm had havocked. 
 
 Ne'er did Fortune frown 
 Upon us till, returning South, a gale 
 Beat us for days within the peaceful sea. 
 So did we then as Drake, and carried sail 
 From isle to isle to Chancy. Thence came free 
 About the world, until old England's clift 
 Hailed with a shout and burst of jovial din 
 Gladdened our eyes like honest star in rift, 
 That helps lost trav'ler out of marshy gin. 
 
 ' So am I rich, dear love, and should you need, 
 As yet you may nay, heed me, sweet ! this ring 
 And letter shown to Master Silversteed, 
 The Turkey merchant of Old Change, will bring 
 Ungrudging help.' 
 
 A little while they clung 
 Speechless, amid the deepening darkness, save 
 For sigh and kiss, until a ship-bell rung 
 Louder than common. Then, low-toned and grave, 
 
go The Nail. 
 
 Gray spake again : ' Farewell ! farewell ! the tide 
 Doth serve and I must go, for so I pledged 
 This morning, heart-sick of the world. Abide 
 The sorrow, Hester, though 'tis dagger-edged. 
 The curl you gave me still is next my heart, 
 Dearer the gift than gem from Indian mine ! 
 No matter where, each night I draw apart 
 And kiss the pledge and pray the blessed Nine 
 To guard the giver.' 
 
 Trembling all, ' Farewell !' 
 She sighed, as slow he drew from her embrace. 
 c Think of me sometimes. Evermore will dwell 
 In me remembrance.' Anguish in her face, 
 She watched him as he mournful trod the walk, 
 Heard the gate clang, beheld him wave adieu, 
 Then turned to mourn, like luce on broken stalk, 
 Above her babe, her heart rived through and through. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Again the belfry spake, but seldom stroke 
 And dull that smote the soul of her that hung 
 Above her coffined babe, and, wailing, broke 
 The lethal stillness, while she frantic clung 
 A moment yet entreating to the dead 
 That kindly neighbour hands must now remove. 
 'Twas Hester Moore, upon whose gentle head, 
 As unkind Fate would all its rigours prove, 
 Blow upon blow had fall'n in cruel wise. 
 First Moore began, passion at end, to show 
 Neglectful ; then, his treachery known, disguise 
 
The Nail. gi 
 
 Threw off, and reckless frowned upon the woe 
 That paled his victim's face. 
 
 With proud restraint 
 Hester withheld reproach, nor ever word 
 Spake of her sorrow ; neither sigh nor plaint 
 Making to friend or neighbour, though the sword 
 Of silence probed but deeper hopeless wound. 
 Nor this the whole. Ere long another ill 
 Was added, when her girlhood's home she found 
 Sold to repair a traffic loss, with still 
 A debt behind. 'Twas fate, for hitherto 
 Moore had been prosperous in his ventures. Now, 
 As Fortune did eschew him, daily grew 
 Matters to worse. Ere long the Barley Mow 
 Knew him for often guest, since now he sought, 
 Madman, to drown the sting and sense of loss 
 In vinous revelry, oblivion, bought 
 With after pain, more poignant than the cross 
 Laid on him rightful. 
 
 Thus he grew to sot 
 Within a year. And but a week agone, 
 Drunken returning home, from out its cot, 
 Deaf to entreaty, took his infant son. 
 At end his maudlin tenderness, again 
 Rejecting aid, he had the babe laid down, 
 But stumbled, and, unable to regain 
 Himself, had crushed the babe upon the stone 
 The marble hearthstone, hateful evermore. 
 So died the boy. To-day, to wakeless sleep, 
 They lay him where the river laps the shore, 
 Miming the surge sonore of mighty deep, 
 
g2 The Nail. 
 
 With laughing wavelets, children of the rill, 
 And osier brook and grassy rivulet mild. 
 Happy the babe that naught of mortal ill 
 Save parting pang inherits ; rathe beguiled 
 To cast aside life's burden garb of clay, 
 And, careless, tireless, sinless, wait the doom. 
 Yet breaks the mother's heart, strive as she may 
 To gild with pious after-hope her gloom. 
 
 Thus Hester mourned like Rachel, all her prayer 
 For welcome death to ease her of the load 
 That grew too hard for gentle soul to bear. 
 Moved by her sorrow, Moore contrition showed 
 Awhile, but, doglike, soon returned again 
 To his foul vomit, drink. 
 
 A month went by, 
 
 And tidings came of further loss. In vain 
 He sought to borrow. All were cold and shy. 
 How matters not, he yet had come to know 
 Of Gray's bequest, the ring and privy store ; 
 And now would oft entreat his wife to go 
 And somewhat claim of need. But she, the more 
 He urged, refused , for all her soul rebelled 
 To take to traitor use benignant gold. 
 So grew constraint to open breach. Repelled 
 Again ere long with resolute scorn, made bold 
 Of rage, he lift his coward hand and smote 
 The wife he vowed to cherish. 
 
 Night was come, 
 
 And all about was peaceful. Jocund note 
 Came from adjacent cot, uncareful home 
 Where wedded maid, proud mother but of late, 
 
The Nail. 93 
 
 Her cradled joy sang lightsome to its rest. 
 Well Hester knew the singer, frequent mate 
 In happy, guileless girlhood. Swelled her breast 
 With sense of wrong to madness. Death alone 
 Could loose the marriage tie so vilely gained, 
 And end life's ills, both present and unknown. 
 One look she gave her tyrant, then, constrained 
 Of agony, fled forth the house and sought 
 The singer's shelter. Here her fevered head 
 She laid on friendly breast, until she caught 
 Her husband's voice anew, and, shuddering, fled, 
 Pursued by oath and threat. In deep despair 
 She fled unheedful whither, till the dash 
 Of water 'gainst the uneven causey stair, 
 Smote on her ear with dull and mournful plash. 
 
 The night was clear, the river murmurous ran 
 Back to the breast of all embraceful sea ; 
 Like babe that, mother-parted little span, 
 Babbling delight, with eager-footed glee 
 Speeds to her arms to lose in love's embrace 
 Record of loss in whirl of frantic joy. 
 Gaunt in the night, its stern and felly face 
 The regal keep uplift, yet still alloy 
 Of soul-oppressive gloom shone here and there 
 A turret light, like beacon star in murk. 
 She now upon the brink, in wild despair, 
 Wringing her hands, intent life's cruel irk 
 To end, self-slain, a last sad look around 
 Cast, ere she sought the solace of the flood. 
 
94 The Nail. 
 
 Now dull across the stream the clangous sound 
 Of ship-bell swept ; while hard by where she stood 
 Rose sailor shout in rude responsive hail. 
 Disturbed, she drew aside, as plash of oar 
 Spake nearing boat ; and, hidden, ' What avail 
 Is death to me, he living still, who more 
 Should die for evil done than guiltless I 
 For ill sustent !' 
 
 So flashed the pregnant thought 
 Through maddened brain : ' The rather let me fly. 
 I have the ring. Ah, love ! long time I've fought 
 'Gainst love and thee, of duty. What reward 
 Hath right, all things subservient to wrong ?' 
 Now ground the boat against the shelvy hard. 
 The men got in with snatch of ribald song, 
 Timing the throb of oar. Alone, again 
 She stood upon the stair, the plaining stream 
 Dark at her feet slow lapsing to the main. 
 Head bent, hands clasped, long hung she, deathful dream 
 Still in her brain. At length : ' Dear love, I'll take 
 Enough to-morrow of thy gold enough, 
 No more, and that unwilling, for thy sake, 
 To hie me far away. Though rude and rough 
 My life henceforth, I shall at least be free 
 From drunken mate, revilings, cursings, blows.' 
 Here fell the teardrops of her misery 
 Fast in the stream. ' The veriest wretch that goes 
 Hungry from vil to vil hath happier fate. 
 What harm, then, have I done, what ill, what sin ?' 
 Repentant now she homeward turned. The gate 
 Was open, and the cottage dark within. 
 
The Nail. 95 
 
 He, then, was absent, so she grateful crept 
 In solitude and darkness to her bed. 
 Here lay she wakeful of distress, nor slept 
 For long time, then, disturbed by noisy tread, 
 Waked startling. Once more 'twas her tyrant sot 
 Returning drunken ! Cursing, grumbling, came, 
 Oft stumbling on the stair, the vinous blot 
 On manhood, honest husband's sorriest shame. 
 
 Cold as the beam that pierced the dormer pane, 
 And checkered ceil and floor and wainscot bare, 
 She trembling lay, like fawn on grassy plain, 
 Lost from the leafy covert's homely lair. 
 He coming, brutal, struck her cruel blow, 
 And yet again with oathings foul, and word 
 Of shame more hard to bear than utmost throe 
 Of pain by virtuous wife or stake, or sword ; 
 Then fell where late he fell and did to death 
 His babe, and, falling, struck his head, and lay 
 Prone at her feet. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The morrow's fragrant breath 
 
 Breathed through the casement. Soon the flame of day 
 Filling the chamber, girt the sleeping man, 
 Who stirred not, nor when all the down awoke 
 Made waking sign. Alarmed, now Hester ran 
 To seek a neighbour. Soon the calm was broke 
 By exclamation, eager, shrill, and oft. 
 Dead where he fell he lay, his cruel face 
 Kissing the stone, the marble stone more soft 
 Than his own cruel heart. 
 
96 The Nail 
 
 Imbuted trace 
 
 Yet on her brow and breast of drunkard hand, 
 Few said ' Heaven rest him !' while the most perceived 
 God's wrathful judgment, shown in swift command 
 To Death, His creature's course of ill achieved. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ere long returned anew her faithful swain, 
 The richer for his venture ; and still more 
 Intent on love, his sweetheart's woes and pain 
 Learned from the common converse. She was poor 
 That once was rich ; and wan, whose maiden cheek 
 Had shamed the rose ; while suffering out her eyes 
 Had stol'n the god-light. Thoughtful, silent, meek, 
 She moved as one o'ercome of miseries. 
 His brave heart bled to see it ; thousand-fold 
 His love increased of pity, yet in vain 
 From day to day he pleaded. Love untold 
 Spake in her eyes, yet could he nothing gain 
 But this : ' It is not meet that I should mate 
 With whom I once was faithless.' 
 
 So she said, 
 
 Long time to each entreaty. They that wait, 
 Nor falter in pursuit, to conquest head 
 Do bring endeavour. Thus true love at last 
 Obtained well-won reward. Once more the bells 
 Whirled mad-tongued in their lair. Of trouble past 
 And livelong bliss begun, the paean swells 
 With sore tried hearts long parted, beat for beat 
 Rapturous pulsing ; while Nepenthe draught 
 
The Nail. 97 
 
 The young loves mix at Hymen-banquet sweet, 
 And Cupid, gleeful, wings ecstatic shaft. 
 
 Now came again the bloom to Hester's cheek. 
 
 Again her beauty knew its earlier charm, 
 
 While Fortune, as repenting cruel freak, 
 
 Sought every way resentment to disarm. 
 
 So lived they happy, naught alone withheld, 
 
 But gift of babbler offspring. Yet would fall 
 
 Betimes on Hester horror gloom, dispelled 
 
 By spousal tenderness, redoubled all 
 
 By piteous remembrance of the past. 
 
 Of nights, too, sometimes waked of nameless fears, 
 
 Her cry would thrill her sleeping mate, who, fast 
 
 Clasping her trembling form, would chide the tears 
 
 And sobs of deep-set sorrow. 
 
 Years went by 
 
 Full fraughted years that saw a royal head 
 Fall at a nation's anger. Tyranny 
 In one overthrown, in many wider spread 
 To quicker judgment. Then the common debt 
 Gray paid, bequeathing all his ample store 
 To Hester. She ere long from vain regret 
 Found solace in good deeds. Thus many a sore 
 And aching heart she comforted, the thought 
 Of once o'erpowering sorrow winging aid, 
 The ampler, readier, and full oft unsought, 
 To widow, babe, or all too yielding maid 
 That should be wife, but was not. 
 
 Most of all, 
 She loved to meet the boys at eventide 
 
 7 
 
gS The Nail. 
 
 The winsome, gamesome boys released from thrall 
 
 Of task and schoolhouse. They their noisy pride 
 
 Bated at her approach, not seldom bow 
 
 Or book or ball the prize to him that best 
 
 Made answer to her quest'ning. Who could know, 
 
 Save one as desolate, how full her breast 
 
 Of motherhood and sympathy for aught 
 
 That still was young and harmless ? Warning word 
 
 She sometime spake, lest heedlessness were fraught 
 
 With cruelty, or treach'ry should be sword 
 
 To pierce confiding heart. 
 
 By all revered, 
 
 Thus lived she till, upon her comely head 
 Time laying rimy hand, the snow appeared 
 White ensign of the kingdom of the dead 
 That the dark portal silent opening shows. 
 Already they that shared her youthful past, 
 And knew her after-lot of mis'ry, blows, 
 Save one or two, had entered in the vast 
 Unstoried region. She the approaching day 
 Waited, but not unfearful, frequent prayer 
 And kindly deed redoubling, vestured clay 
 Shrinking perforce from Death's relentless share. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The summer sun, sky -wearied, drew to close, 
 Its red rays slanting seaward o'er the stream, 
 What time some life-worn trav'ler sought repose 
 From heirloom toil and hope's fallacious dream 
 Within the peaceful have of Terra's breast. 
 
The Nail. gg 
 
 Dull, deep, and slow the bell boomed out the tale, 
 By sexton urged, the while a mate addrest 
 His sinewy strength to delve the clayey pale. 
 His task well-nigh complete, a fleshless skull 
 He careless threw without his deepening den ; 
 This, rolling down the rugged slope, made dull 
 And curious rattling. One slow pacing then 
 The churchyard path, the pastor newly called 
 To parish cure, saw where the death's head fell, 
 And, drawing nearer, raised it ; but, appalled, 
 A moment after dropped the mouldering cell 
 With cry of horror. Shuddering once again 
 He took the gruesome emblem. 
 
 ' Murder vile,' 
 
 He muttered awestruck, 'here is writ full plain, 
 And plain revealed ! And yet what end? Long while 
 Ago the deed was done. This rusted nail, 
 Fast harboured where it clave its deadly way, 
 A lifetime since was driven. Who the tale 
 Dare hope to fathom? Lives the wretch to-day ? 
 Or has the doom he dealt been judged by Him 
 Who, judging all men righteously, doth fill 
 His cup of vengeance ever to the brim 
 For them that, impious, dare His image spill ? 
 But yet the man is old. Perchance the name 
 Of him this tell-tale wreck doth represent 
 May linger.' 
 
 So, the skull in hand, he came 
 Nearer the chasm, and attentive bent 
 Over the delver, making question, He 
 For answer pored upon a battered plate 
 
ioo The Nail. 
 
 Red-rusted : ' Ay, the name's here, if so be 
 I could but read it ! Ne'er my shallow pate 
 Could hold much learning. First an O, and next 
 
 Another. Then there comes ' The sexton here 
 
 Stood gaping, scratching head, as sore perplext. 
 Meanwhile the priest, with brow and look severe, 
 Impatient waited : ' Prithee, Diggory, pass 
 The plate to me,' he said at length, and laid 
 The death's head down among the nettled grass. 
 ' Why now for sure,' the old man chuckling said, 
 1 'Tis Moore 'tis Moore that married Hester Gray. 
 To think I had forgotten ! Well, 'tis nigh 
 On forty years, if 'tis a blessed day ; 
 Will Moore that died in drunken fit.' A cry 
 Brake from the frowning priest. ' A drunken fit !' 
 He scornful muttered; 'ay, but deadly nail 
 To hinder waking !' 
 
 He within the pit, 
 
 Uplooking, saw the priest was wondrous pale, 
 And honest questioned. ' Nay, a qualm no more,' 
 The priest returned ; ' a passing qualm ! But, see, 
 Your aguish task is done, or most ; give o'er. 
 This relic takes my fancy. Come with me ; 
 A stoup of ale will stave off marish ill j 
 Dame Woodward shall provide it !' 
 
 Nothing loath, 
 
 The man clomb forth : ' Now tell me, an you will,' 
 The priest continued, while an idle cloth 
 He wrapped about the skull, ' whate'er you know 
 Of Moore, his end, and Mistress Hester Gray.' 
 So did the man, oft pausing, doubtful, slow, 
 The tale full long escaped from memory's sway. 
 
The Nail. 101 
 
 VII. 
 
 The morrow came. 'Twas stormy ; drifting rain 
 
 That soddened all the down, and drave the kine 
 
 To hovel shelter 'gainst the streaming pane 
 
 Beat furious ; while the jasmine's shivering vine 
 
 Wept in the wind, that smote the elm-tops tall 
 
 This way and that tyrannic. Howling swept 
 
 The gale about the eaves. The gabled wall 
 
 Shook in the drift. The mastiff, growling, crept 
 
 The deeper in his kennel, restless aye, 
 
 And rattling chain uneasy. Overhead 
 
 The vane incessant twirled with long-drawn sigh, 
 
 Or goblin shriek rebellious. Sore bestead, 
 
 All day the bully sparrow chirped reproof 
 
 Of wind and rain within his ivy nest ; 
 
 While, home-kept in his mansion, 'neath the roof 
 
 The whiterwinged swallow preened his spotless breast. 
 
 At noon, the storm abating, Hester sat, 
 As was her wont, within the cushioned seat 
 That filled the deepset casement. Grassy plat, 
 And lilac grove, and trellised arbour neat 
 Were as of yore ; for Gray the gardened cot, 
 His wife's first home, had bought again ; no place 
 So dear by half as that, the blissful spot 
 Where, equal love confest, her blushing face 
 Was laid upon his shoulder. Oft indeed 
 Would rise in each remembrance of the strife 
 'Twixt love and right, when bitter fate decreed 
 Lover and mistress, sore-deceived wife, 
 
The Nail. 
 
 Perforce must part, or drag unholy chain 
 
 Of passion bondage, heavier day by day. 
 
 Small pain the remembrance brought, rich after gain 
 
 Of joy allaying thought of sorrow's sway. 
 
 Within the window Hester sat, for long 
 Absorbed in page of old black-lettered tome, 
 Open upon her lap at plaintive song 
 Of Israel's royal penitent, that home, 
 Age after age, speaks to each heart that yoke 
 Unwilling bears of ill corrective doom ! 
 Now lifting up her pensive eyes, she spoke, 
 Tearful, the prophet words. 
 
 Yet deeper gloom 
 
 Fell on the world without, and forth a cloud 
 Leapt lightning, but afar, with muttering mate 
 Slow toiling after. Prayerful, Hester bowed 
 Her head upon her book. But now, the gate 
 Loud clanging, strode the minister in haste 
 Up the dank path. Unwelcome visitant 
 The man to most. In early days unchaste, 
 Ribald, and lax ; complaisant ministrant 
 Of ill to all ; reformed, none more severe 
 To young and old alike, did any swerve 
 But hair's breadth from his standard. Yet sincere 
 The man was, doubtless, thinking to subserve 
 God's ends by sternness. 
 
 Hester saw him now 
 
 Not pleased, his harshness on her kindlier mood 
 Jarring continual. Still, intent to show- 
 Due honour to his office, ris'n she stood 
 
The Nail. 103 
 
 Expectant by the window, while her maid 
 Unlatched the outer door. Stern-visaged he 
 And cold, as one that half reluctant played, 
 Of duty, painful part ; her courtesy 
 He met with small acknowledgment, and took 
 A seat somewhat apart. Silent a space, 
 He slow began, his eyes with searching look 
 Ever upon her, watchful, seeking trace 
 Of fear, confusion, or impallid dread 
 At guilt brought home a-sudden. 
 
 ' Mistress Gray, 
 
 Last eve the sexton, delving grave, o'erspread 
 The churchyard path with upturned mould and clay. 
 A skull, thrown careless up, rolled close to feet. 
 I, moved of curious whim, took up the wreck, 
 And, making question, heard the man repeat 
 A story of much import. Little reck 
 Wrongdoers of the God that vengeth ill, 
 But impious frame a proverb, " Dead men tell 
 No tales," and thus do bolden murderous will 
 To deed, and think with pause of funeral bell 
 Discovery at end.' 
 
 So said he slow, 
 
 And watchful of the effect his studied words 
 Should have on Hester. But her snow-crowned brow, 
 Untroubled, showed no sign of terror chords 
 Thrilling within her. Frowning, spake again 
 Her stern-souled visitant : ' These forty years 
 And more the deed was done ; but still 'tis plain 
 The man was murdered. Yea, his skull appears, 
 Witness immatchable to prove the crime, 
 
104 The Nail. 
 
 And bring to righteous judgment her that slew 
 With monster hand her husband.' 
 
 Other time 
 
 Again he paused ; but ever greater grew 
 Perplexity and doubt within his soul, 
 For Hester sat, untouched, untroubled still, 
 As hearing pointless tale. Alone there stole 
 Strange smile to eye and lip, as but the will 
 Were wanting to bemock stultiloquence. 
 Then fiercely he again : ' Your husband Moore, 
 I say, was murdered. Speak your innocence ! 
 Woman, unlock those callous lips before 
 I hale thee forth to prison and to doom ! 
 Dost know this rusted nail ? From out the skull 
 Of William Moore I wrenched it.' 
 
 Hurtling boom 
 
 Of o'erhead thunder here, with uproar dull, 
 Drowned further accusation. 
 
 Painful, slow, 
 
 White as the lambskin laid on window floor, 
 Hester uprose, and spake the one word, ' Go !' 
 Pointing with trembling hand the parlour door. 
 Now, furious, he : ' Woman, I go ; beware 
 My rathe return !' 
 
 Again the storm brake forth ; 
 But he, fierce anger conquering self, no care 
 Took of the failing tempest's fitful wrath, 
 But, stern, self-chosen blood-avenger, made, 
 Through rain and blast and hurtling thunder-peal, 
 To claim the scoffing tipstaff's grudgeful aid. 
 Hester the while with overwhelming reel 
 
The Nail. 105 
 
 Of mind and brain, low crouched, her whirling brow 
 Laid on the seat. 
 
 ' Ah, God ! Thou knowest all ! 
 It cannot be ! Thou knowest ! Naught I know 
 But that I woke at sound of hammer fall. 
 Most merciful ! I thanked Thee then no ill 
 My witless hand had worked him. Can it be 
 E'en then that hand ? Hence, awful thought ! Be still, 
 My heart, or kill in leaping. Pity me, 
 Dear Lord ! A nail within his brain a nail ! 
 'Twas Jael drove it ! Jael, I ! No, no ! 
 Not murderess vile ! Oh, horror !' 
 
 Wail on wail 
 
 Surged from her soul in bitterness of woe, 
 Till brake her harmless heart of misery. 
 Once more a cry, ' O Jesu, grant relief !' 
 And Hester Gray lay dead of agony, 
 Christ of His pity stilling heart and grief. 
 
 **#** 
 The storm passed by. The sun's impatient ray, 
 Parting the hindering clouds, sped hasty down 
 On angel errand, till, where Hester lay, 
 Lovingly entering in, effulgent crown 
 It laid upon her restful. 
 
io5 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 MY sweeting is queen of the ball ! 
 
 Sing hey for the light in her eyes, 
 The blush on her cheek and her innocent brow, 
 Her cherry lip chaste and her bosom of snow, 
 
 Her feet, oh so shapely and small ! 
 
 My sweeting is queen of the ball ! 
 
 Sing hey for the lift of her breast, 
 Her smile that is brighter than sunbeam at morn, 
 Her sigh that is softer than zephyr forlorn, 
 
 Love-lonely in yEolus' hall ! 
 
 My sweeting is queen of the ball ! 
 
 Sing hey for the gleam of her feet, 
 That now from their covert of camelot peep, 
 Now hide them, coquettish, now gracefully sweep 
 
 The floor at Terpsichore's call ! 
 
 My sweeting is queen of the ball ! 
 
 Ah me, that no part have I there ! 
 Another my lady may tenderly clasp, 
 Another her dainty hand loverly grasp, 
 
 Be suitor, and partner, and thrall ! 
 
 Yet, sweeting, be queen of the ball ! 
 
 Dance on, my own darling, be gay ; 
 For life is but labour, and sorrow will beat 
 Too soon at youth's portal will leaden the feet 
 
 That now so bewitchingly fall ! 
 
RAHERE. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE thunder rolled ! The rain in sleety waves 
 Dashed at the pane, impelled of fury blasts 
 That shrieking raged about the ruined pile, 
 As eager to complete man's mindless wreck. 
 The lightning clave the concave of the sky, 
 With far-resounding shock that wrapped the world 
 A moment in wild uproar, deafening, vast 
 Father of after-silence till the ear, 
 Regaining office, heard the exultant storm 
 Rage fiercer, as the glorious face of earth 
 It hated, and insensate would deform 
 In very pride of hate. 
 
 The glooms of eve 
 
 Had gathered, but the larger darkness born 
 Of overhanging tempest filled the fane 
 With deeper shade. The low-arched aisles were full 
 Of darkness, veiling tablet, wall, and tomb. 
 Yet still within the apse the pillars vast 
 Stood out like broad-browed giants, spreading wide 
 Their arching arms, uplifting realms of stone 
 So massy as to mock at Time and storm 
 So strong that only hand of man might mar 
 What hand of man upreared. Deep set above 
 
io8 Rahere. 
 
 Within the quarry wall, the clearstore lights 
 Like mouths of flame, or furnace doors wide thrown, 
 Revealing fervent worlds shone out whene'er 
 The livid bolt outleapt the tempest womb 
 With throe of thunder. 
 
 Ceaseless dashed the rain 
 
 'Gainst roof and wall and casement. Lurid flashed 
 The storm-born messenger of flame. The roll 
 Of wrathful thunder yet and yet again 
 Woke all the hundred echoes of the fane. 
 Unceasing wailed the wind through arch and aisle, 
 Unearthly 'mid the darkness. Yet there knelt 
 Beside the founder's tomb, within the choir, 
 A maid, and prayed regardless of the storm 
 Black-robed, white-coifed, with long and lustrous hair, 
 That, fallen, lay about the holy ground. 
 So still she knelt upon the pavement stone, 
 Time-worn and stained, some chiselled effigy 
 She seemed of saint absorbed in blessed prayer. 
 
 Anon a fiercer flame uplighting all 
 
 With blinding ray, she slowly lift her head, 
 
 And, rising, laid her head upon the tomb. 
 
 ' From lightning and from tempest, Lord, we pray, 
 
 Deliver us ! Yet ever nearer Thee 
 
 I seem whene'er Thy lightning giveth shine, 
 
 And feel Thou dost but speak me in the storm. 
 
 What terror now has tempest strife for him 
 
 That sleeps beneath this fretted canopy ? 
 
 In Thee quiescent, all his travail done, 
 
Rahere. 109 
 
 Shakes earth, falls heav'n, he peaceful sleeps, nor heeds. 
 
 So I, firm stayed on Thee, what dread for me 
 
 Lurks in Thy bolt, or hides in hurricane ? 
 
 So dost Thou but abandon crystal throne 
 
 To visit earth on wings of mighty winds ; 
 
 Thine awful presence told in meteor flight, 
 
 Or quake of elements that own Thee Lord. 
 
 Yet shame to us, sweet Lord, we too should fear 
 
 Thy creature children fashioned in Thy face !' 
 
 So said the maid and smiled, her steadfast gaze 
 Set on the lofty casement's changeful pane. 
 But now amid the peace that followed shock, 
 A timid voice, appealing, called, ' Rahere ! 
 Rahere ! Rahere ! Dear sister, where art thou ?' 
 
 A door there was within the sombre aisle, 
 
 Of sculptured stone, the work of sometime prior, 
 
 Whose rebus artful filled the tympanum 
 
 Amid congenial foliage of the vine. 
 
 The door wide-thrown, a beam of flickering light 
 
 Streamed out a chamber, and within the ray 
 
 A child stood calling. Naked were the feet, 
 
 Chilled of the furrowed sill, and pale, that peeped 
 
 Without her gown of dimity, and bare 
 
 The pretty rounded arm, outstretched, that spoke 
 
 Itself entreaty ; while her loosened hair, 
 
 Black as the night, lay shimmering on her breast, 
 
 That rose and fell distressful. 
 
 At the sight, 
 Seen through the massy apsis columns, quick 
 
no Rahere. 
 
 Her thoughts recalled to lowlier things, the maid 
 
 Forsook the shrine to clasp the child in arms. 
 
 ' Why shouldst thou fear, Cecilia ? Yet is mine 
 
 The fault, and thine, dear child, the right to chide. 
 
 But thou wert sleeping, and the tempest broke 
 
 While yet I knelt beside the prior's tomb : 
 
 So beautiful the lightning's fervid play, 
 
 The booming thunder's deep sepulchral call, 
 
 I could not draw away from spirit strife 
 
 That spoke my soul with hundred kindred tongues. 
 
 But thou art cold ! My pretty one, thy breath 
 
 Comes doubtful, while thou tremblest like to leaf 
 
 New born, and touched with soft mysterious joy 
 
 At being and to be in such fair world. 
 
 Come back to bed. I'll sit beside thee till 
 
 The storm gives o'er, or life's best comrade, sleep, 
 
 Seals up anew those fear-distended eyes.' 
 
 So said Rahere, and bore the trembling child 
 
 Close nuzzling to her breast again to rest. 
 
 Not all destroyed the prior's stately home. 
 Though much decayed and broken, yet there stood 
 A fragment still against the chancel wall, 
 With vaulted chambers low, and windows deep 
 Embrasured in the rubble parquetry 
 So deep the sun might hardly enter in 
 The pillared cell and mote th' uneven floor. 
 The sisters here were born ; but first Rahere, 
 Alarmed at day, had joyed her mother's ear 
 With babeling cry delightful. Grown to girl, 
 
Roller e. in 
 
 And Death that mother claiming ere Cecile 
 Could prattle forth endearing tenderness, 
 Rahere was mother, sister, both in one, 
 And none e'er truer. Sped the years, and now 
 Rahere to woman grown, death smote again 
 With urgent stroke the portal of their home, 
 And bade away its husband. So the maid 
 Was left to urge life's warfare hazardous 
 Unfriended, but with dower of beauty, oft 
 More ban than benediction, bane than good. 
 
 Cecilia laid again within her bed, 
 
 Her arms fast set about her sister's neck, 
 
 Spake softly now, her dread a little past : 
 
 ' I could not sleep, Rahere, the cruel storm 
 
 So fearful raging. See that dreadful flash ! 
 
 Forgive me ; have I called you needlessly 
 
 But but Rahere again that horrid crash ! 
 
 You say 'tis God a-speaking in the storm. 
 
 Why should He speak so loud ? Your voice is soft, 
 
 Rahere, so soft ; I never weary, dear, 
 
 Whene'er you speak, whate'er it be you say.' 
 
 With loving hand the clammy upturned brow 
 
 Rahere smoothed gently, then made calm reply : 
 
 ' God speaks, Cecile, in ways and tones untold ; 
 
 Some hear Him when the aspens, murmurous, make 
 
 Their melody at bid of wakening breeze ; 
 
 Some when the bright-winged sunbeams kiss the face 
 
 Of smiling earth. Again, some others best 
 
 When Night with lifted ringer hushes Day, 
 
112 Rahere. 
 
 And brooding stillness coverlets the world ; 
 Some when the mild waves lap the shelvy shore, 
 And murmur, " Sister-sands, we come again ; 
 Have ye no welcome ?" Some, alas ! Cecile, 
 Will never heed Him till He ding as now, 
 And shake their souls through coward ears that throb 
 In anxious consternation. All His tones 
 To them that love Him, sweet, are beautiful, 
 And all His ways delightful.' 
 
 Here Cecile, 
 
 Faint smiling, answered : ' Then, indeed, I fear 
 I love Him not, or not as you. I find 
 No beauty in the tempest. Sing me now, 
 Rahere ; your voice, at least, I understand : 
 Sing, sister, till the tiresome storm is o'er.' 
 
 Sleep, sister ! what and if the tempest beat 
 
 Fierce at thy chamber pane ; 
 
 Though lightnings flash through whirl of rain and 
 sleet, 
 
 And thunders shake the fane ! 
 Sleep on, thy sister sits beside thy bed ; 
 Sleep on, good angels guard thy guiltless head ! 
 
 Sleep, sister ! so the gentle Lord of all, 
 
 Worn with the day's distress, 
 A-slumbered lay the while the tempest-call 
 
 Shook with its fearfulness 
 
 Sea, ship, and them whose souls the hissing wave 
 Thrilled with the threat of wild and wat'ry grave ! 
 
Rahere. 113 
 
 Sleep, sister ! fiercer still the tempests rave, 
 
 Yet does He calmly sleep. 
 ' Wake, Master, wake ! Save, Lord, we perish save ! 
 
 Death dwells within the deep !' 
 He wakes, He smiles, He lifts His sacred hand 
 ' Peace, peace !' and all is still at His command. 
 
 Sleep, sister ! still the same dear Lord doth wait 
 
 But for His people's prayer, 
 And if betimes He seem to sleep, their fate 
 
 Yet is His tireless care. 
 
 For them the storm, for them He quells the sea, 
 Rules flood and flame, supreme in sovranty. 
 
 The sweet voice sank to silence ; then Cecile 
 
 The singer's face drew down, till loving lips 
 
 Met in the music of impassioned kiss. 
 
 So lay they for awhile, then spoke Rahere, 
 
 Her words first prefaced by a heavy sigh 
 
 And lingering caressing : ' Darling, now 
 
 I have a matter I had thought to keep 
 
 Till morning from thee. Yonder posy still 
 
 Is fresh and wholesome. How o'erjoyed we were 
 
 To pluck it yester eve in Pancras fields 
 
 With alehoof and the first sweet sprig of may ! 
 
 Thy lappet apron full, dost call to mind 
 
 The wish our home were ever in the fields 
 
 Anigh a wood ? Nay, heed no more the storm, 
 
 'Tis passing ; that was but a farewell shock. 
 
 Cecile, my sweet, there is a home for thee 
 
 In field and wood a little way removed, 
 
 8 
 
H4 Roller e. 
 
 In truth, but not so far I may betimes 
 Come see thee and remain with thee awhile.' 
 
 More had she said, but here the child, alarmed, 
 Sprang up, and, careless all of wind and storm, 
 Knelt in her cot and looked Rahere in face. 
 ' Betimes come see me ! nay, I'll nowhere go, 
 Rahere, where you are not. 'Twould be no home 
 Without you, sister. I'd ne'er see a field 
 Or flower again so I might stay with you ! 
 You cannot mean it, sister.' 
 
 To her heart 
 
 Rahere drew close the sobbing supplicant, 
 And spake her gently, while her sorrow rained 
 A tear-shower on her tresses. ' Home, alas !' 
 She sighed, ' we have no more to call our own ; 
 This crumbling roof, endeared ah me, how dear !- 
 By years of childish happiness, nor less 
 By mem'ries of the dead, and goodly thoughts 
 Born of the prayerful cloister's solemn calm, 
 Is ours alone of charity awhile, 
 And ours no more whene'er the presbyter, 
 Who takes our father's place, assumes the cure. 
 Then must we forth, and I must work, Cecile, 
 If I would eat, as saith the holy Paul, 
 And gladly also had done so for thee 
 Had need been ; but from Tott'ridge comes reply 
 From Master Hale our uncle. Home there is 
 For thee with him. But I well, I am grown 
 To woman, and must work. Dear heart, 'tis right, 
 And doubtless for the best, that thou shouldst go, 
 
Rahere. 115 
 
 Though bitter hard our parting. Yet the night 
 The last night of his life our father bade 
 Me write our aunt, his sister, on his part, 
 And this comes back.' 
 
 At this Cecilia wept 
 Anew within her sister's jealous arms ; 
 ' But must I go, Rahere ? Nay, sister, nay ! 
 Still keep me with you ; I'll not fear for storm, 
 Nor vex you ever, only let me stay.' 
 
 ' It may not be, alas !' Rahere replied, 
 With effort brave at firmness, only now 
 And then her breath came gasping, while a sob 
 Brake from her spite endeavour. ' Nay, Cecile, 
 In sooth to part is bitterness supreme ; 
 But yet, dear child, I give thee up to God, 
 And pleasant future, safe, and well assured ; 
 'Twas out of grief, indeed, I sought the church 
 And tomb of him of whom I bear the name. 
 And praying there for comfort, came the storm, 
 And strangely, with its breaking, sorrow passed 
 Away as God Himself uplift my soul. 
 Cecile, my thoughts have ever been to thee 
 Since first our mother died, but doubly since 
 Death bade our father home to larger sphere 
 Of service in his Master's land of light ; 
 So now I may not balance tenderness 
 In scale with duty. 'Tis His blessed will, 
 And I submit. But, darling, ne'er forget 
 I do it but of honest love for thee. 
 Now lay thee down and sleep, if so thou canst. 
 
n6 Rahere. 
 
 Be sure Rahere will never fail in love, 
 But, shouldst thou prove unhappy in thy home, 
 Thy newer home, will surely fetch thee thence 
 Whate'er her lot.' 
 
 With lingering kiss and sigh 
 The child lay down. Rahere with streaming eyes 
 Bent o'er her mournful, while the storm swept by 
 With lessening gale and distant thunder-peal. 
 
 II. 
 
 Within the prior's pew, high set, between 
 
 The bold triforium's pillared archings rude, 
 
 Two men stood watchful, thoughtful. One in dress 
 
 Sad coloured, as became God's servitor, 
 
 Gazed down with knitted brow and look austere 
 
 Upon Rahere, who nigh the founder's tomb 
 
 Sat sewing, all unconscious of the eyes 
 
 That jealous marked her every stir and mien. 
 
 By far the elder this. The other, young 
 
 And richly drest though simply, smiling gazed 
 
 Large-eyed as one astonished, ne'er displeased. 
 
 Some while they gazed. Then softly urged the youth, 
 
 'Who is the maid, good Master Hope? Too dull 
 
 Her garb for angel. Were she but in white, 
 
 As poets pen and painters limn the saints, 
 
 Nor plying needle over mortal wear, 
 
 Methinks she might beseem some happy ghost 
 
 Or saintly patroness of this old fane.' 
 
 f Tush, Master Hewett ! Tush ! what speech is this ? 
 Some saintly patroness ! Malignant lips 
 
Rahere. 117 
 
 Might frame the words, but never godly youth.' 
 So said the presbyter, and deeper frowned 
 The while upon the maid, whose lovely head, 
 Uplifted now, was laid against the shrine. 
 ' I crave your pardon, Master Hope,' the youth 
 Made answer gently, though contemptuous look 
 First curled his mobile lips. ' But, see, the maid 
 Is weeping. Surely, now 'twere godly part 
 To play the minister !' 
 
 ' The maid has cause 
 
 To weep,' replied the presbyter, ' her heart, 
 I fear, not firmly set upon the Lord. 
 Her father, one time slave to prelacy, 
 My predecessor in the cure, did sign 
 The Covenant, but not of conscience' sake, 
 But, as is common talk, for love of her 
 Who sits by yonder shard of Popery, 
 And other younger daughter. He of late 
 Gone to the judgment waiting Demas souls, 
 Rahere perforce must win her daily bread.' 
 
 ' Rahere,' the youth repeated, thoughtfulwise ; 
 ' Is't not the name of him that built the church, 
 King Beauclerk's minstrel ?' ' Yea, the very same, 
 And so canst somewhat gauge the mind of him 
 Who could so name his daughter, after lewd 
 And godless maker of unholy songs.' 
 ' In sooth 'twas strange, yet have I ever heard 
 Of penitence Rahere did build the church 
 
 And hospice ! So may be ' Thus far the youth, 
 
 When, stern and hot, the presbyter rejoined : 
 
Ii8 Rahere. 
 
 ' Ay, ay ! too oft doth Satan glozen souls 
 To deeper doom by mammon hope to win 
 Forgiven entrance to celestial home, 
 E'en at the last, by fallacy of works, 
 Most deadly of all errors !' 
 
 Coldly here 
 
 The youth made answer : ' Surely, Master Hope 
 Your pardon an I speak you overbold 
 'Tis better to repent, with honest proof 
 Of reformation in some goodly deed, 
 Than idle prate of faith and charity 
 With never sign of either, first or last.' 
 
 Sore vexed at speech so plain, with barb of truth 
 
 Adjoined, the presbyter made sharp reply : 
 
 ' Such speech doth ill become your father's son, 
 
 And my good friend. It cannot be you hold 
 
 With prelacy or Independent crew. 
 
 Sir Edward must be warned.' But here the youth 
 
 As sternly interposed : ' In truth, good sir, 
 
 I had my father in my thought, and so 
 
 Spake that I spake ! Is't not the common saw 
 
 At Beech Hill, and of him, " The longer prayer, 
 
 The lesser ruth " ? Doth not he preface mean 
 
 And covetous oppression of the folk 
 
 That service him alone through hap of birth, 
 
 With Scripture garnish text and monologue? 
 
 You, too, are much his debtor. Have you found 
 
 Your schoolmate friend less urgent of his due 
 
 Than veriest Hebrew ? E'er put off a day 
 
 Demand of payment ? Wherefore am I here ? 
 
Rahere. ng 
 
 What is't I bear him back but usury, 
 
 And usury enforced of a friend ? 
 
 My father ! Well, enough of him. You know 
 
 Him, as I know ; I had not spoken else. 
 
 You were, methinks, about to tell me more 
 
 Of yonder weeping maid ?' 
 
 ' Nay, nothing more 
 
 Save that she gains a meagre livelihood, 
 E'en as you see, and comes o' times to work 
 Of phantasy beside her namesake's tomb. 
 She hath strange likings, and of late doth lie 
 Within the gate beyond the outer field, 
 For love of godless shadows, monk and knight ; 
 Her sister gone to care of worthy friends ; 
 Her mother dead, and kindred wide dispersed.' 
 
 A mournful look o'erspread the young man's face : 
 
 ' No sister mother ! 'Tis a hapless lot ; 
 
 Mine too, and, truth, no blow can hammer heart 
 
 To agony like that of loss of her 
 
 Who makes home, home. Our fathers were but fools 
 
 To call man husband. Often 'tis the wife's 
 
 Sweet unassertive presence that doth bind 
 
 All lives in one, and watchful draw around 
 
 Unquiet souls the cords of peace and love. 
 
 Without her house may be, but never home ; 
 
 My mother, life is not since thou didst die !' 
 
 So sighed the youth. The minister was moved 
 
 To gentle answer : ' Lad, thou speakest truth 
 
 In part, at least ! So, so we'll jar no more.' 
 
120 Rahere. 
 
 Rahere, meanwhile, her grief o'erpast again, 
 
 Took up her broider task. But now the sun, 
 
 Sometime obscured by passing cloud, brake forth, 
 
 And falling full on wall and floor, the rays 
 
 Gilt with their golden beauty all the fane ; 
 
 And looking up, with sad but raptured eyes, 
 
 She sighing stretched her hands towards the beam 
 
 ' My God ! my God ! how beautiful Thou art ! 
 
 Thy lesser world so fair, how glorious 
 
 Thy star-girt home ! Ah me ! were I with Thee !' 
 
 Beholding this, the presbyter again 
 
 Frowned deeply, slowly shaking reverend head, 
 
 Her words not heard. Far otherwise the youth. 
 
 He at the sight was moved, he knew not why, 
 
 To sympathy of sorrow. Turning now, 
 
 He urged the other mildly : c Master Hope, 
 
 Shall we not speak the maid ? But charity 
 
 To help her in her strait, if so may be ; 
 
 Come, go we down !' 
 
 Thus urged, the presbyter 
 Unwilling turned, yet fain had made excuse, 
 Had reason served. Scarce down the oaken stair, 
 Came one in haste, to bid the minister 
 To conference with newly-come divines. 
 ' Nay, never make excuse,' the youth rejoined, 
 To proffered courtesy. ' I'll wait you here. 
 This ponderous door should open on the church ; 
 I'll walk within awhile.' 
 
 The old man's face 
 
 Was lit with meaning smile, as slow he went 
 To join his strait-laced brethren, parlour set : 
 
Rahere. 121 
 
 ' The maid is comely. Fever-blooded youth, 
 Vainwarned, will ever seek the sirens' isle, 
 And, heedless there of whitening bone and wreck, 
 Will madly near to list the deadly song !' 
 
 Alone the youth uplift the brazen catch 
 With careful hand, and softly oped the door : 
 ' Now may I find the maid, and find her still 
 Thought-spelled and rapt, as now when I beheld 
 Her lovely face than Niobe's more sad ! 
 Nay, she has moved, yet every movement grace, 
 Sweet girl, and should thy lesser self enshrine 
 But half so fair a soul, my heart, I fear, 
 Henceforth is in thy keeping.' 
 
 Coming now 
 
 With lissom tread across the chancel aisle, 
 He made Rahere obeisance : ' Maiden, now 
 Your pardon for intrusion. Much, I fear, 
 Iconoclast unwilling of fair thoughts, 
 I come unwelcome.' So he said, his words 
 Well chos'n and tagged with due sincerity, 
 Which she perceiving, 'Sir, the church is free,' 
 Returned him gently, making reverence, 
 1 To all alike that love its restful aisle 
 And solemn calm, remote from all that jars 
 Our goodlier being.' 
 
 ' Lady, I am one,' 
 
 The youth replied, ' who loves the peace you praise, 
 And praise most justly. Yet are men but men, 
 At strident voice of duty bound to range 
 Themselves this side or that. Were all men priests 
 
122 Rahere. 
 
 Or scholars, wedded only to their books, 
 The world would fare but badly ; beauty waste, 
 And fail God-given purpose.' Here he bowed ; 
 She, blushing, changed the theme to other speech 
 With woman wit. ' You came to see the church ; 
 Was it not so ? I'll gladly be your guide ; 
 My father late was vicar.' 
 
 Overjoyed 
 
 To have such guide, the youth made fat reply ; 
 But cautious, gauging well her virgin soul, 
 Mistrustful. Now from aisle to aisle they went ; 
 She, artless, all her lore of stone and tomb 
 Revealing, glad of sympathetic mind ; 
 He dwelling rapt on untaught eloquence, 
 And feeding, silent, on th' unstudied charm 
 Of trembling lip and kindling cheek and eye. 
 
 Now came they once again beside the tomb 
 Where slept Rahere, and here the maiden stood 
 A short while thoughtful. Then, in doubtful wise, 
 First glancing at her comrade, slowly spake, 
 A tremor in her voice, as one that speaks 
 Moved of a righteous anger in defence 
 Of absent friend or lover : 
 
 ' This one tomb 
 
 I kept of purpose till the last, as first 
 Of all indeed, our chiefest ornament. 
 Here rests Rahere, disparaged much of some 
 Who deeper see not than the glistering fringe 
 Of giddy foam that flecks the ocean's breast, 
 Conceiving not the vast and mighty waste 
 
Rahere. 123 
 
 Of water peaceful as the grave that girds 
 
 Earth everywhere about in fold eterne, 
 
 Deep-set, unseen, emotionless as Death. 
 
 Men are but men, set all about with snares 
 
 And lures, and pitfalls dug of ghostly shapes, 
 
 And powers recalcitrant. Assaulted thus, 
 
 All fall, some more, some less ; some few, like swine, 
 
 Persistent wallow in their wantonness ; 
 
 While good men break away sometime, and soar 
 
 The loftier for their soilure. Is't not true, 
 
 Great lives of great denials most do come ? 
 
 So 'twas at least with him whose effigy 
 
 Doth here so sweetly pardon supplicate. 
 
 For he was rich in favour with his king 
 
 Love plighted famous in the lists of song, 
 
 And as I doubt not in the lists of men ; 
 
 For kings they love not cowards. Read you now, 
 
 'Tis here upon his tomb full plainly writ, 
 
 How much he took in barter, and for these 
 
 The things men cherish most, and, seeking, oft 
 
 Will wear away the well-spring of their lives 
 
 "Primus canonicus." And Prior priest 
 
 God-vowed and dedicate, of this his gift 
 
 To Him, His Church and people.' 
 
 Thus Rahere, 
 
 In speech melodious, and that the more 
 The gentle indignation of her soul 
 Lent to her accents music. He awhile 
 Kept silence still, as loath to break the spell 
 The maiden, guileless, wove him all about. 
 Then with a sigh : ' I am your debtor much, 
 
124 Rahere. 
 
 Sweet lady, and am one with you in thought ; 
 
 'Tis pity, too, such goodly pile should lie 
 
 Thus racked and spoiled. Methinks the founder's soul 
 
 Must be sore vexed, should vexation come 
 
 Within the portals of the wider world 
 
 Of waiting spirits.' 
 
 Quickly glancing round, 
 As fearful of eavesdropper, spake Rahere : 
 ' Your dress, sir, speaks you Puritan ; your speech, 
 True Churchman. Or but no ! the very thought 
 Is too unworthy. Treachery no place 
 Has in a manly heart. I think you brave, 
 Or read your looks awry. You would not seek 
 To frame for me displeasure out my speech ; 
 Of late too oft my portion has been more 
 Of chilling frowns than warmth of kindly looks.' 
 
 ' A hundred ills the rather !' quick the youth 
 
 Made answer, and with vehemence ; ' I did 
 
 But honest speak the thought this shrine awoke 
 
 Within me. Trust me, lady, all in all ; 
 
 An hour agone misspoke disparagement 
 
 I heard of him whose dust this fretwork holds, 
 
 And freely-urged objection. As you say, 
 
 I am true Churchman. When my mother died, 
 
 She, whisp'ring, spake me: "Edward, ne'er forsake 
 
 The one Church of your fathers." Lady, I 
 
 Have ever kept her counsel firm in mind, 
 
 And so have never part with them that deem 
 
 Themselves th' elect, all else idolater.' 
 
Rahere. 125 
 
 Now spake Rahere, emboldened : ' Once your thought 
 Was mine, and oft it grieved me, till one eve, 
 Not long since, as I sat within the gloom, 
 There brake upon me other : " He has joined 
 The larger host of souls emancipate, 
 And so has fuller knowledge, with disdain 
 Perchance, of much he counted much, so long 
 His ken was clogged by veil of earthiness. 
 
 Then followed this " ' But here she paused, a look 
 
 Upon her lovely face all ardent lit, 
 
 As it should say : ' Rahere, thou art too bold 
 
 By far to prattle thus with stranger youth.' 
 
 ' Nay, tell me all your mind,' anon he urged 
 
 With courteous entreaty. ' Mine I told.' 
 
 ' This then my thought : Our minds so moved apart, 
 
 And oft by that would seem the closer bond ; 
 
 It cannot be the Lord of endless thought 
 
 And infinite conception doth restrain 
 
 His creatures to set worship. So they give 
 
 Him but His due, nor after other gods 
 
 Run blindly, them He leaves to choose the way 
 
 And method of their service. He that built 
 
 This church and hospice worshipped in the way 
 
 Our mothers loved and all our fathers taught. 
 
 Grapes burgeon not of thorns. 'Twas goodly deed 
 
 Thou didst, Rahere. If ours be good to give 
 
 This holy house to havoc forging nails 
 
 On yonder noisy anvil, ringing loud 
 
 In desecrated transept much more thine. 
 
 A child may batter that men scarce may build 
 
 So little recks Rahere of pomp and praise, 
 
126 Rahere. 
 
 So long as prayer goes agelong up to Him 
 Who moved His servant's soul to raise the fane.' 
 
 More had she said, but now the presbyter, 
 
 With scholar cough, came slowly where, they stood ; 
 
 So made the youth low-toned acknowledgment 
 
 Of service kindly rendered. She her task 
 
 Took up again with courteous rejoin, 
 
 And, rev'rence made to Master Hope, withdrew 
 
 Behind a pier to labour and to muse. 
 
 III. 
 
 Worn by the wing of Time, that year by year, 
 Slow-pulsing, robbed of sharpness, coign, and groin, 
 Yet proudly still bestriding all the way, 
 And darkly frowning, darklier still when storm 
 Beat at its 'brasures, stood the fortress gate, 
 Last shard of vast and stately English home, 
 Of them that erewhile manned the bloody breach 
 Against the Moslem thousand times, and won 
 Brief space Jerusalem and holy mount 
 To Christian ward and keeping. 
 
 Gone the knights 
 
 For ever ! Gone the prance of warrior steed, 
 Proud of his mailed master ! Gone the flaunt 
 Of pennon and of plume, with clarion call 
 Ringing adown the courtyard, waking tramp 
 Of cross-clad knight and white-robed servitor 
 Obedient at its summons ! Floated more 
 No standard, haughty cognizance, that oft 
 Awed monarchs, and compelled unwilling praise ; 
 
Rahere. 127 
 
 Ne'er castellan again, at blast of horn 
 
 Wound clam'rous at the gate, might welcome guest 
 
 From Araby or Malta, bearing tale 
 
 Of doughty deed against the Saracen. 
 
 Gone all ! hushed all ! The nearer life flows on 
 Less pompous, not less real. Life is life, 
 Though chivalry be legend of the past, 
 Be old-world tale, and pageantry depart 
 Like mist before the fuller blaze of day ; 
 The nation lives and moves in upward course, 
 Or, doomful, downward, as its God decrees. 
 
 Yet stood the gate, though set to other use, 
 Yet never nobler, since within its walls 
 It sheltered now Rahere. A chamber small, 
 Within its western turret, served the maid 
 For sleeping ; but the larger o'er the gate, 
 Disused and stored with ancient lumber, this 
 She loved, and here full oft the livelong day 
 Debarred the church by spleen of Master Hope 
 Would sit and labour at her broider task. 
 
 Beneath the window blazon stood a chest 
 
 Fast locked, her seat ; hard by a suit of mail, 
 
 With plumeless helm and rusted sheathless sword, 
 
 Was set against the wall. Anon the mood 
 
 Would take the maid to fashion him that wore 
 
 The battered panoply ; his charger steed 
 
 That snorting shook the corse-heaped field ; the flight 
 
 Of them that fled the flashing of the sword, 
 
 She, fearful of her daring, oft would touch 
 
128 Rahere. 
 
 With timid finger, to her gentle thought 
 Each spot of rust the life-blood of a foe. 
 
 Nor only thus by day, but when the moon 
 Slid through the welkin cloudlets slow of flight, 
 To lap the gate in silver, peer within 
 Its dusty chambers dark with blackening oak, 
 And gild the broken trophies of the past 
 With its serene effulgence ; then Rahere, 
 Heart-thrilled, would seek the comfort of the ray, 
 Pure as her maiden self, and fearless sit 
 Beneath the pane, safeguarded as she deemed, 
 And may be not amiss, by soul of him 
 Who in his flesh had dwelt within the mail, 
 Christ-pledged to succour Holy Sepulchre, 
 Grave matron, or sweet maiden in distress. 
 
 To-night so shone the moon. Its gelid beam 
 Kissed, as it loved, the thoughtful maiden's brow, 
 Upturned to greet its splendour. All around 
 Lay shadowy shapes of night. The dull wind stirred 
 The tattered flag that, mouldering from the wall, 
 Hung listless, aimless. Up the turret stair 
 Came moan of gust lugubrious, as if 
 Distressful shade of servitor or frere, 
 Unrestful, sighed its sorrow. 
 
 All was still 
 
 Save for the breeze, and now the hour, that rolled 
 Slow from the old Carthusian belfry tower. 
 Eleven strokes deep boomed. Rahere rose up. 
 ' Now must I sleep, or day's impatient toil 
 Will wake me drowsy, aptless for its task. 
 
Rahere. 129 
 
 And yet how calm, how lovely is the night ! 
 Sure, Thou that madest darkness and the light 
 Hast doubly blest night's starry intervene 
 With larger presence of Thy seraph host. 
 How from their wings doth balm-like peace distil, 
 Refreshing hearts that ache from solitude, 
 Or loss of joy deep memoried, or stress 
 Of life-load proven all too burdensome !' 
 
 Here sighed the maiden deeply : ' Dost thou think 
 
 Betimes of me, Cecilia, in thy green 
 
 And pleasant home ? My pretty one will draw 
 
 All hearts into her keeping. Love to love 
 
 Must flow like springs to swell the billowy flood 
 
 That girdles earth. To-night and dost thou sleep 
 
 Forgetful of thy sister, let my soul, 
 
 Strong of its passion, break its chain of flesh, 
 
 And free, of love awake thee, fill thine own 
 
 With gentle thoughts of her of whom thou ne'er 
 
 Didst have but gentle thinking. Waken, sweet ! 
 
 The same soft beam that lights me sorrowful 
 
 Falls on thee too. Fair ray, my soul convey 
 
 To her, for I to-night am full of sad 
 
 And restless longings born of vanished joy. 
 
 Oh, were thine arms again about my neck ! 
 
 Might I but feel thy kiss upon my lips, 
 
 And hear thy harmless prattle !' 
 
 Here the maid 
 
 Gave o'er abrupt, a choking in her throat. 
 1 God save thee, sister, sleeping or awake ! 
 Nor love nor hate His purpose may impede. 
 
 9 
 
130 Rahere. 
 
 Lord, I believe ; help Thou my unbelief ! 
 Yet am I very lonely, come Thou near : 
 For Thou hast made me, and my spirit craves 
 Companionship the craving Thou hast deep 
 Implanted in our souls for wisest end.' 
 So sighed she after, mistress of herself, 
 Within her chamber while she prayerful knelt. 
 
 But now a voice brake sudden into song 
 Beneath her window, whence her taper's light 
 Lost in the ampler fulgence of the moon, 
 Shone out but feebly. All amazed at strain, 
 Unusual now that passing cavalier 
 Was mark by day for rabble discontent, 
 And roister wand'rer haled incontinent 
 O' nights by watch to lock-up or to cage, 
 Rahere arose, and, wondering, list the song. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 Raining down her silver gleam, 
 
 Out the welkin's cloudless height 
 Proud amid the lucent stream, 
 
 Rides the ray-crowned Queen of Night ; 
 Fair is she, yet comes not near 
 My fair mistress, sweet Rahere ! 
 
 Light from out her lattice flows, 
 Brightens casement, sill, and wall 
 
 Brighter light herself bestows, 
 
 Gladd'ning, quick'ning, conq'ring all ; 
 
 Phrebus' self doth dull appear 
 
 Set in list with sweet Rahere ! 
 
Rahere. 131 
 
 Night winds whisper, soft and low, 
 
 All about her virgin nest ; 
 Zephyr wings that, waving slow, 
 
 Lull her, soothe her into rest ; 
 Sweet their fall, yet rude and drear 
 Matched with tones of sweet Rahere ! 
 
 Scents from herbs and flow'rs distilled 
 Perfume meet for palaced kings 
 
 Grateful rise ; the air is filled, 
 Tis as Araby had wings. 
 
 Rich are they, yet come not near 
 
 Saba's empress, sweet Rahere ! 
 
 Waken, then, my life, my queen, 
 
 List thy lover's serenade ; 
 Love is life, there's naught between : 
 
 Wealth is burden, pleasures fade. 
 Waken ! show nor fault nor fear ; 
 Bid me worship, sweet Rahere ! 
 
 Thus sang the unseen minstrel. While Rahere 
 Uncertain stood, half doubtful that she heard 
 Aright herself so lauded, and her name 
 So frequent sounded, knocking rose without 
 The further archway of the gate, with call 
 Expostulant and angry : 
 
 1 Master Gould ! 
 
 Some godless gallant sings anigh the gate. 
 But now the son of Belial lift his voice 
 Within the yard. Come down and let us in !' 
 
132 Rahere. 
 
 This loud, then softer, nearer, underneath 
 Her very casement : ' Prithee, get you gone, 
 Sir Edward, ere the crop-eared curs break in. 
 Away in haste ! you do the maiden wrong 
 If you but linger. Get you to the inn ! 
 Away, I say away ! These canting knaves 
 I'll cozen smartly ! Go you, and good-night !' 
 
 She knew the voice, her host's. An honest man 
 
 Too honest to assume a godliness 
 
 As outer as the garments donned at morn 
 
 By them, alas ! too oft that most of all 
 
 Claimed nearer kinship with th' Inscrutable. 
 
 Too manly he to let unworthy strain, 
 
 Or treach'rous, rise about her couch at night ; 
 
 But rather had th' offender soundly trounced, 
 
 And chased afar the precincts of the gate. 
 
 Who, then, was he that sang beneath her pane, 
 
 And sang of love and passion ? 
 
 Burning blush 
 
 O'erspread her cheeks. 'Tis very sweet to love, 
 But loved, how much the sweeter ! She was maid 
 And lonely. Small the wonder now her heart 
 Throbbed with a sweet confusion, while her cheek 
 Flamed with the soft impulsion of her heart. 
 
 Her taper self-extinct, what time the song 
 Drew to an end, she turned her lattice catch, 
 And softly set ajar the leaden frame. 
 Beneath within the moonbeams' placid light 
 Her host stood restless, urgent nigh him one 
 In whom she thought to recognise the youth 
 
Roller e. 133 
 
 She met beside her namesake effigy. 
 
 Now grew the knocking louder. One swift glance 
 
 Cast at her casement, and the youth was gone 
 
 With wafted kiss that seemed to her, sweet child ! 
 
 To flush her burning cheek with deeper flame. 
 
 He gone, her host with quiet laughter flung 
 
 Aside his cap and jerkin, then in haste 
 
 Made for the knocking, while the maiden sought 
 
 The greater chamber, better so to hear. 
 
 Beneath there stood the watch with burning horn, 
 And halbert gleaming in the ashen light ; 
 With him two stern-faced burgesses returned 
 From business, doubtless, of a godly sort. 
 To them if 'twere not nasal psalm, a song 
 Was grievous and offence to Christian ears ; 
 So heard they scandalized the serenade, 
 But, as kind Fortune willed it, too far off 
 To catch its purport. Calling quick the watch 
 From shelter corner, came they to the gate. 
 
 ' What would you, watch ?' now queried honest Gould, 
 
 Unbarring slow the gate. ' Your noisy staff 
 
 Makes such a clatter, sure my harmless gate 
 
 Will need fresh paint the morrow. Pray you cease. 
 
 Your worships' pardon !' this to burgesses, 
 
 The door ajar : ' I knew not who did knock. 
 
 Methinks, indeed, the business must be great 
 
 That keeps so late our aldermen afoot, 
 
 All honest folk asleep. But never shoe 
 
 I hammer after dark for mayor or cit.' 
 
 Impatient now made answer one : ' You do 
 
134 Rahere. 
 
 But hinder matters, Master Matthew Gould ; 
 
 Some ale-house tippler lurks within the yard, 
 
 Singing his lewd and godless melodies.' 
 
 ' Art sure ? art sure ?' the farrier made reply ; 
 
 ' Come in then, friends ! And but your worships catch 
 
 The roister knave, my stave shall play a tune 
 
 About his back ; he'll wake no more o' nights 
 
 His brother citizens from honest sleep. 
 
 Come in, and quick ! Why, what is that ? Good lack, 
 
 I fear 'tis truth ! There goes the villain ! See ! 
 
 Your lamp, good watch ! This way! This way, and quick !' 
 
 Within the further corner, where the gate 
 Threw blackest shadow, set a little down 
 Below the cobble paving of the yard, 
 A muck-heap, partly emptied, lay concealed ; 
 Some soilage yet was left, and, foul and black, 
 Came level with the yard. This way ran Gould 
 Beside the rest, but, stumbling as he ran, 
 Put out the light. The rest went eager on, 
 With cry vexatious, changed to shout of wrath, 
 What time the foremost fell within the pool, 
 And clutching as he fell pulled all within ! 
 
 Now came the farrier. ' Why, my masters, why, 
 
 And didst not see the path ! Phew, phew ! the stench ! 
 
 There ! there ! The rascal's 'scaping at the gate ; 
 
 I'll after ! Pray you home and shift your hose !' 
 
 They, well bemired, got out, and full of rage 
 
 Made home in haste. Short time the watchman stayed 
 
 To light his lamp ; then, cursing meddling fools, 
 
 Went off enraged, while stifled laughter shook 
 
 The fence where Gould in darkness hid away. 
 
Rahere. 135 
 
 IV. 
 
 Next morn Rahere, at foot of oaken stair, 
 
 Perceived her host with purpose loitering near, 
 
 A merry twinkle lurking in his eye. 
 
 ' Didst hear naught yester-eve, or rather night ?' 
 
 He asked complaisant, laughing as he spake. 
 
 ' We had some merry doings after dark 
 
 With music 'neath your window. What didst hear ?' 
 
 Then blushed Rahere, like ocean when the sun, 
 Unfolding slow at eve the western gate, 
 Departing casts a broader, ruddier gleam 
 O'er all the realm of water. So the maid, 
 Confused, stood blushing, then made answer slow : 
 ' In truth, I heard a song a pretty song 
 With name ; yet, surely, 'twas not meant for me 
 And at its end a knocking. Then a shout 
 And splashing. Then anext my very room 
 Such laughter as might shake the very gate.' 
 
 Here Gould again brake forth. His laugh at end : 
 ' Ay ! ay ! Indeed we choused the rascals well ! 
 Yet, prithee, nothing say an you would keep 
 Myself, your friend, from mischief. I am not 
 In wholesome odour with the livery ; 
 They know I ran not with the scurvy crew 
 That baited to his death our royal stag. 
 Your father was my friend, so am I yours, 
 And thereto bound the more that evil times 
 Depress your pretty head. In truth, the song 
 Was somewhat, and for you. I love the lad 
 
136 Rahere. 
 
 Who sang it. Tis a goodly youth, whose heart 
 
 Is nobler fibred than a thousand one 
 
 A queen might spouse without disparagement. 
 
 Some day he'll be Sir Edward rarely rich 
 
 Sir Edward Hewett, heir to great estates, 
 
 His crafty father kept or gained through all 
 
 The stormy years whose muttering's not yet past. 
 
 My brother has a stithy on the chace 
 
 At Hadley nigh the park. Whene'er I may 
 
 I saddle Bess, and spend a healthful day 
 
 Amid old faces. 
 
 Thus it comes about 
 
 I know the lad full well he me ; and should 
 He say a word of love to one I know 
 Ay, blush your fill and welcome ! chide him not ; 
 But take Dame Fortune's proffered gift, and bless 
 The day the boy came wooing.' 
 
 All the morn 
 
 Rahere sat thoughtful, while her needle moved 
 More slowly than of wont. But when the day 
 Drew evenward, her broidery set aside, 
 She went abroad within the Pancras fields 
 To cull a posy. 
 
 Soon her kirtle full 
 
 Of wildings plucked from hedge and bank and field : 
 Germander, tutsan, balm of warrior wound, 
 White cuckoo-buds that, sootheful even come, 
 Gave out the sweets refused to fiercer day ; 
 With poppies, Flora's darlings frolicsome ; 
 And bindweeds pinky-veined, and sweet as gale 
 Of summer drowsed amid the hay-strawed fields. 
 
Rahere. 137 
 
 All these and more she twined with ivy spray, 
 Resting awhile beside a little wood 
 Of hazel-bush and beeches. These the wind, 
 Awaking, shook, but softly. Gathering strength, 
 It sturdier blew, tree answering tree, till all 
 The wood rang loud with shout harmonious, 
 That swelled to tumult, then, subsiding, died 
 Away to very whisper. More removed, 
 A bell gave forth its monotone, and bade 
 The restful hamlet kneel in common prayer. 
 
 Soft was the maiden's heart, the peaceful spell 
 Of even laid upon her. Oft her spoil, 
 Her wilding spoil, she kissed with word of praise, 
 And some, prime-favoured, set within her breast. 
 A little while, and now the call to prayer 
 Rang out no more, its last stroke floating by 
 Reluctant, slow, and trem'lous. Overhead 
 The lark hung doubtful, songless ; then began 
 Fresh ditty, fitful ; then gave o'er, and sank 
 To turfy nest. The sun, with effort, clave 
 Apart the closing curtains of the west, 
 Once more to kiss the sorrowing face of earth. 
 Soft was the maiden's heart. Her fair face set 
 Towards the gleaming west, the crimson glow 
 Illumined cheek and throat, her wondrous eyes 
 Filled with the glorious radiance. Long she sat 
 Absorbed in virgin fancies, till the flame 
 Died out the purpling sky, and louder grew 
 Within the wood eve's wind-struck harmonies ; 
 Then woke she smiling : ' Sith the sun is gone, 
 
138 Rahere. 
 
 I too must homeward !' Yet a little while 
 
 She lingered still, as loathful to forego 
 
 Green wood and field, with gleamy eve, for town. 
 
 Again she lift her posy to her lips, 
 
 And softly sang a simple ditty, made 
 
 By one whose soul dwelt most with flowers and field. 
 
 Flowers, flowers ! never shone 
 Gems as fair on empress' breast ! 
 Hesper set in Evening's crest 
 Never brighter ! Ye to me 
 Dearer are than pearls of sea, 
 Or chalcedone ! 
 
 Flowers, flowers ! seraph tears 
 Are ye, shed for earth's despite, 
 Rainbow-tinted in your flight 
 Earthward, so that weary men, 
 Hope-cheered, yet may climb again 
 To loftier spheres ! 
 
 Flowers, flowers ! minster spires 
 Are ye, glad with anthem, prayer, 
 Heavenward lifting ! Spirits rare, 
 Planting hope, uprooting doubt, 
 Scornful chasing mammon rout 
 With altar fires ! 
 
 Flowers, flowers ! sweet are ye, 
 Yet but mirrorings of life, 
 Portent emblems, warning rife ; 
 Fair at morn, o'erblown at night 
 Plucked to perish ere the light 
 Unfailingly ! 
 
Rahere. 139 
 
 Her simple song at end, Rahere arose 
 
 And turned her footsteps homeward ; but confused 
 
 A moment after, let her posy fall. 
 
 A bridleway that crossed the beechen wood 
 
 Gave here upon the road, and by its gate 
 
 She saw the youth dismounted him that moved 
 
 So late to pleasant dreaming. Eager he 
 
 The falling flowers perceived came quickly forth, 
 
 And set again the posy in her hand 
 
 With courteous salutation. 
 
 She, sweet girl, 
 
 All trembling, blushing, took again the spoil ; 
 But never word could find to make reply, 
 Could only rev'rence. He embolden'd thus, 
 His horse's rein within his nervous hand, 
 Permission craved the night so near to guard 
 Her maiden footsteps homeward. This obtained, 
 A little way they went in silence, save 
 From time to time he spake her with his eyes, 
 Love's facund spokesmen. She within their depths 
 Read deep-set sadness, and, herself most sad, 
 Felt Love's kinswoman, Pity, stir her breast, 
 Forerunner oft of passion. 
 
 ' I am glad,' 
 
 He said at length youth ardour daring tale 
 1 To meet you thus. The evening is so fair 
 And calm, mild thoughts must dwell in rudest breast 
 How much more then in her, whose loveliness, 
 Though perfect, yet doth hold but second place 
 To all the sweet impulsings of her soul ! 
 Rahere, when first I saw thee in the church 
 
140 Rahere. 
 
 So sad, so droopful, nigh the founder's tomb, 
 
 My heart sprang up tumultuous, while the blood 
 
 Burned in my veins, and all my being turned 
 
 To thee as needle turns to magnet stone. 
 
 Dear heart ! dear heart ! I prithee, show not cold, 
 
 Nor turn so far away that kindling face. 
 
 You deem me stranger nay, not so ! Long days 
 
 And weeks have gone since then long dragging days- 
 
 But never once my thought has gone from thee. 
 
 Rahere ! Rahere ! believe me, day nor night 
 
 Has passed but I have sentinelled thy haunts, 
 
 Now church, now gate. Unseen, I oft have seen, 
 
 And seeing, loved but deeper. Yet whene'er 
 
 I drew anigh to speak thee, something rapt 
 
 The courage from my heart. 
 
 But yester-eve 
 
 Our common friend spake out, and bade me cease 
 Pursuit or plead. Rahere ! dear trembling queen ! 
 I love thee love thee ! Well I know thou art 
 As far above me in thy nobler self 
 As heav'n from earth. Yet as the sun beholds 
 Sin-troubled earth, and sends benignant beam 
 Incessant through untravelled space to cheer 
 Her tear-worn bosom, so behold me now, 
 And grant, of sweet compassion, love for love." 
 
 So urged he ardent, letting fall the rein 
 He held, to take in his the maiden's hand. 
 She nothing spake as yet, the thoughts that stirred 
 Her breast too new, too strange, too various all 
 For utt'rance ; only as he gazed, his face 
 
Rahere. 141 
 
 Turned so to read her own, he saw the tears 
 Beflood her eyes, then fall, delightful pearls 
 Of hope to him enraptured. 
 
 Yet again 
 
 He spake, and truthful spake his very soul : 
 ' Forgive me ! Never tear should stain those cheeks 
 Unless begot of love. I speak, perchance, 
 Too soon, and vex you, yet can naught withdraw. 
 You are my first and only love ! If thus 
 Unpractised tongue in lover speech be rude, 
 O'erlook th' offence, and teach me how to woo. 
 Your pretty song I heard I could but hear, 
 Your every tone to me a melody 
 Recalling voice of her who gave me birth, 
 And sang, alas ! as caged lark, or swan 
 Just before death, of heart-break weariness 
 And very joy of dying. List'ning, then, 
 To this your song, one only thought was mine : 
 Sweet singer, may I haply win thy love ! 
 I'll wear thee, flower of maidenhood, more close 
 To warder breast than rose to stem, or bloom 
 To coronal of leaves, or ivy spray 
 To shelter wall, storm-shelt'ring still in turn.' 
 
 He urging nothing more, she slowly turned 
 Her lovely face more lovely for the tears 
 Still glitt'ring on the fringes of her lids 
 And answered gently : ' I am homely maid, 
 Priest's daughter only, and with only dower 
 Of comeliness, while you are rich and great. 
 How can it be you love me as you say, 
 
142 Rahere. 
 
 And I so little seen known scarce a day ? 
 
 But yet I may not wrong you as to doubt 
 
 Your pleading true. Myself forbids the thought. 
 
 You plead as I had pleaded, were I you, 
 
 My heart so sad with weight of loneliness ; 
 
 And so in truth the proffer of your love 
 
 Doth sorely tempt. Yet will I never wed 
 
 Unless my every thought is set on him 
 
 Who hails me bride with holy vow and kiss. 
 
 I may not seal love's sacrifice of self 
 
 But I can blend in ampler, worthier stream 
 
 The current of my being, wishes, hopes ; 
 
 Nor slave nor toy, but helpmate, comrade, friend, 
 
 To him, true image of the God that said, 
 
 " It is not good that man should be alone." 
 
 Let this content you, then, I'll be your friend ; 
 
 And if, as may be, friendship grow to love, 
 
 Then will I choose thee all beside contemned 
 
 For lover, husband, keeper of my soul, 
 
 While Heav'n doth sanction earthly wardenship.' 
 
 All overjoyed, again and yet again 
 Her yielding hand he lifted to his lips 
 With murmured blessing. ' Darling, soon I'll bud 
 Plain stock of friendship with the choicest bloom 
 Of life's wise gardener, love. My queen, my own, 
 Erelong shall weight of loneliness be lost 
 In world of gain. Nay, where is loneliness, 
 Dear heart, already ? Look me, love, in face, 
 Read all my soul, with those so lustrous eyes, 
 And spurn me loathsome doth a single thought 
 
Rahere. 143 
 
 Lurk in't against true love and constancy. 
 And now, beseech thee, give me pledge of thine 
 A flower, thrice happy simple, to have sprung 
 And grown and bloomed and flaunted but for thee.' 
 
 From out the ivy twine she took a flower, 
 
 And, blushing, held it forth with modest face. 
 
 ' Nay, now, Rahere nay, now, I prithee ! this 
 
 Love-pining bloom that nestles in thy breast, 
 
 Sweet woodbine, fair Fidelity's own flower, 
 
 I'll keep it ever.' Smiling, from her vest 
 
 She took the spray and set it in his hand ; 
 
 He, kissing, put it by. But now the glow 
 
 Of sunset gone, the star of eve shone out 
 
 Full in their path. Then said he thoughtfully, 
 
 The while they journeyed homeward : 'See, Rahere, 
 
 Yon golden orb that lights our darkening way ; 
 
 Shines it not fairer than of wont, as if 
 
 It smiled upon our compact ? Ah ! how oft, 
 
 Dull-thoughted, have I stolen forth to seek 
 
 True comrady in Night's slow-circling fires ! 
 
 There's oft deep speech in silence. So to me 
 
 Their solemn stillness spake me through and through 
 
 With thrill of comfort, burning like the coal 
 
 That fired the prophet's lips to eloquence, 
 
 Beyond the power of mortal ecstasy. 
 
 Nor seldom 'neath their pain-assuageful ray 
 
 The void that ached my heart was wondrous filled 
 
 While all its hunger fled my solaced soul ; 
 
 But not of late. Since I beheld thy face, 
 
 To me more bright than welkin star, more fair 
 
1 44 Rahere. 
 
 Than yonder glowing sphere, Night's glitt'ring host 
 No more delight nor satisfy. Alone 
 One star for me can gild life's firmament, 
 Or fill the crannies of my soul with light ; 
 And thou, Rahere, the star !' 
 
 Much more the youth 
 
 His tongue unloosed of love, poured in her ear, 
 She not unwilling list'ner. He was such 
 To sight as maid might covet comely, tall, 
 Gracious withal in mien, and in his speech 
 More lofty than of common. 
 
 Nearing now 
 
 The town, the gloom well-nigh to darkness grown, 
 A cheery voice accosting bade them stay. 
 Matt Gould it was, with cudgel staff, who drew 
 Athwart their path with merry laugh and quip. 
 ' So, so ! I came to seek an errant maid, 
 But find my questing needless. Younger swain 
 Hath found the truant damsel. Pearls of price 
 Have eager seekers ever. Give you both 
 Good-e'en, and bid you back with me to sup. 
 Now you, Sir Ned, have found your tongue, I gage 
 You prove the pasty scorned but over-night, 
 With rare amend for lover fast and fret. 
 But come you at your leisure. By your leave 
 I'll ease you of your horse, and snug him down 
 Before you find the gate. To-night shalt sing 
 Our pretty maid as oft and how thou wilt, 
 Nor care a fig for prowling presbyter. 
 
Rahere. 145 
 
 V. 
 
 Day following day, week week, Rahere had come 
 
 To wish her lover's presence, and to watch 
 
 His coming out the window of the gate. 
 
 Not seldom rode he proudly through the square, 
 
 His gaze fast set upon the lattice broad, 
 
 With ever hope the gleamy glass might show 
 
 Benignant, fairer face than artist monk, 
 
 Saint visioned, e'er had burned in cloistral pane. 
 
 To-day so came he ; saw her in her seat 
 
 From far, and, hast'ning, doffed his hat and smiled 
 
 Fond greeting upward, while his sparkling eyes 
 
 Drank at her beauty draught that, Tantalwise, 
 
 But fired his lover calenture the more. 
 
 The day was fine ; the sun his brightest shafts 
 
 Rained at the gate and casement. Gaily fell 
 
 The golden rays about her as she stood 
 
 Beside the open lattice. Half apart, 
 
 Her pretty lips spake welcome welcome writ 
 
 E'en in their parting. Far adown her hung 
 
 Her tressed wealth of purpling black that caught 
 
 The ray, and gave back sheen for sheen, but yet 
 
 More softly, mildly. Light was in her eye, 
 
 The light of dawning love, fair wizard flame 
 
 That homeliness to comeliness transforms, 
 
 And comeliness to beauty, such as brings 
 
 To lips of good men blessing ! 
 
 Thus she stood, 
 
 To blush anon, her lover's gaze so long, 
 So deep, so ardent. Soon upon the stair 
 
 10 
 
146 Rahere. 
 
 She heard his hurrying footsteps. Now her hands, 
 Quick seized, were lifted eager to his lips, 
 Nor this alone, for reading in her eyes 
 Awakening love, he clasped her to his breast, 
 And burning kisses rained on cheek and lip. 
 
 Ah, first embrace of honest passion ! bliss 
 
 Of love's first paean beat in breasts, compressed 
 
 Each unto each with answering tumult thrill ! 
 
 This now was theirs. Rahere all trembling clung, 
 
 With never word, her lovely head against 
 
 His shoulder, so to hide her blushing face ; 
 
 One arm about his neck, one hand fast locked 
 
 Within his own. Then spake he joyously : 
 
 * Rahere, Rahere ! my lady and my life, 
 
 Thou lovest ! Ah, the joy that fills me now ! 
 
 Yet, yet, I knew thou couldst not choose but own 
 
 Full soon life's talisman young love for lord ! 
 
 Look up, dear heart, look up ! Waste not the light 
 
 Of those bright eyes upon the churlish ground ; 
 
 But let me read them, sweet, as now, and see 
 
 The haven of my hopes deep set within 
 
 Their tearful lustre. Darling, lift again 
 
 Those cherry lips, so I may seal them up 
 
 With kisses numberless as drops of rain 
 
 That fresh the parching fallows ! Love, my love !' 
 
 Thus he, enraptured. Lifting up her head, 
 One glance she gave him, trustful, joyous ; then 
 More closely nestling to his breast, like dove 
 In nest at eve beside her trusty mate, 
 
Rahere. 147 
 
 Lay restful, peaceful, while he spake again : 
 ' So lie then, love, so lie ! none other maid 
 E'er lay there, or shall lie, but only thee !' 
 So thus awhile. Then softly urged Rahere, 
 What time she drew, but gently, from his clasp : 
 ' My heart so full of happiness, I grow, 
 I fear me, selfish ! See, the day is fine, 
 And I did promise late Cecile, to spend, 
 If so might be, a space with her alone. 
 I wrote her so, what time you said Delight 
 Could, pillioned, bear me thither. Let us go 
 To-day, and soon. I long again to feel 
 The clinging clasping of her pretty arms 
 About my neck, her kisses on my lips, 
 To see the flushing deepen on her cheek, 
 And all her heart's love show within her eyes. 
 Mine, Edward, are but dull with hers compared ; 
 You call me fair, and praise me all too oft, 
 Yet am I glad, if so I am for you ; 
 But she indeed is lovely never child 
 So fair in all great London- and as good 
 As beautiful ! Cecile, my pet, Cecile !' 
 
 Her lover smiled. ' Most wondrous prodigy 
 She then must be. I cannot fashion aught 
 More fair than thee, Rahere. But whether fair 
 Or fairer, shalt thou see her, and to-day. 
 Delight shall have such burthen as before 
 She never knew, and prove herself well named ; 
 Gould has the pillion all in readiness. 
 Go, get thee ready, sweet ! But first the things 
 
148 Rahere. 
 
 Cecile shall erelong give thee, give to rne ; 
 I, too, love kisses, with the clasp of arms, 
 Cheek-flushing, and the light of loving eyes.' 
 
 What could Rahere but yield them ? So again 
 The youth was blest, till callous Time that recks 
 Nothing of love's sweet hunger, or the thirst 
 Of youthful passion through the turret chime 
 Gave warning of his going. Then with sigh 
 The youth gave up his darling, and withdrew 
 To see his horse caparisoned ; Rahere 
 To lave, not loath, her burning cheek, and lull 
 The tumult of her bosom, while she made 
 Her simple preparations for her ride. 
 
 Not long, and busy London left behind, 
 
 They came to Copenhagen in the field, 
 
 And thence to Highgate, where they stayed, first climbed 
 
 Its overhanging hill. From thence again 
 
 To Finchley, often idling by the way. 
 
 The mid-day beam was hot, but welcome gale 
 
 Came from the north, and freshed them as they rode 
 
 Beneath the kindly canopy of boughs 
 
 That overhung the winding lanes they sought, 
 
 The rather than the sultry royal way. 
 
 Now leafy Tott'ridge showed, and now the farm 
 
 Which gave Cecile asile. Beside a gate 
 
 And barn, a short way from the sheltered farm, 
 
 The youth drew up as bade Rahere, and soon 
 
 His trembling comrade set upon the ground. 
 
Rahere. 149 
 
 ' Your friends to me are strangers, but my name, 
 So well known hereabouts, would make me friend, 
 If but 'twere told.' Thus had the youth replied, 
 Rahere exhorting to avoid the porch. 
 Now stood he wistful by. ' Your wish is law, 
 Sweet love, to me, so fare thee well awhile. 
 Yet deem not I do fear to own thee, or 
 Present thee proudly all the kingdom o'er, 
 As Edward Hewett's promised bride and wife ; 
 But be it as thou wilt. I'll come at eve ! 
 Now get thee in, and quick. I go not hence 
 Till I have seen thee sheltered.' 
 
 One fond look 
 
 She gave him of her love and gratitude, 
 Then hasty sped along the lane, and oped 
 The gate that swung upon the homestead lawn. 
 
 A pretty place it was, all overhung 
 With jessamine and clematis, and rose 
 That, higher climbing, cluster-blossoms laid 
 About the trellised wall. The house was old 
 And low, but spacious, built of rubble flint 
 With interlacing timbers. In the porch 
 Were seats amid o'ergrowing green, and here 
 Cecile sat reading. O'er the close-cropped lawn 
 Rahere impatient came, unheard, unseen ; 
 Then halting, all her vision dimmed by tears, 
 ' Cecile !' called softly. Startled at the sound 
 Of voice so loved, so longed for, all amazed, 
 The child let fall the book, then, springing up, 
 Sped arrowswift within her sister's arms. 
 
150 Roller e. 
 
 ' Rahere ! Rahere !' she cried ; ' Rahere ! Rahere !' 
 
 Nor more could utter, save the much-loved name ; 
 
 But kissing clung, and clung as she would grow, 
 
 Like ivy to the oak that parted dies. 
 
 What lover meeting e'er so purely sweet 
 
 As theirs, fond sisters ? Angels both for gift 
 
 Of beauty, both for purity and power 
 
 Of loving, stood they love-enlocked, their tears 
 
 And sighs commingling. First Cecile found speech - 
 
 But broken, blent with sobbing, kissing, strain 
 
 Of circling arms, and beat of bursting heart 
 
 ' Rahere ! Rahere ! Then, then, 'twas but a dream. ' 
 
 Then sudden brake away towards the house 
 
 With eager cry, that waked the leafy walls : 
 
 ' Rahere is come ! Rahere is come ! Rahere !' 
 
 Now came there forth a pleasant country dame, 
 
 Who stilled the child, but not unkindly ; while 
 
 She gave her hand in greeting to Rahere : 
 
 ' Right welcome, niece ! I would 'twere mine to say 
 
 My daughter, as for this young mistress here ! 
 
 So did I urge, but William said me nay 
 
 The younger only. Yet but come you in, 
 
 He'll greet you gladly, should he rathe return 
 
 From Barnet market.' 
 
 So Rahere went in, 
 
 Cecile still clinging, while the good dame smiled, 
 And chid her fondly : ' Wanton, well for you 
 I scorn jade Jealousy.' Then to Rahere : 
 ' She busses me at morning and at eve, 
 But never oft'ner. Well, the day may be 
 
Rahere. 151 
 
 She'll serve me better. Truth, I'm glad to see 
 How much she loves you, for I thought her cold. 
 Come hither, wench, and give me, too, a kiss ! 
 So, so ! Now show your sister where you sleep ; 
 Twill ease her heart to know you cosy laid. 
 Then go you round the garden and the moat ; 
 My pans need skimming, and my churning waits.' 
 
 With tearful joy Cecile led up the stair 
 Of rough but hearty oak, to where she lay ; 
 A pretty room, with curtains white as snow, 
 It was, with bed that smelled of lavender, 
 Meet for a queen, so freshly white and sweet, 
 Anigh a dormer window, where a spray 
 Of vagrant rose full oft impatient tapped, 
 As eagerly entreating to be in. 
 Well pleased Rahere beheld each sign of ease 
 And loving care, then earnest spake Cecile : 
 ' Our kinsfolk love you. I am glad so glad ! 
 And you must love them, only not forget 
 Rahere, but name her ever in the prayers 
 She sometime taught you.' 
 
 At the words Cecile 
 
 Brake into weeping : ' Night and day, Rahere, 
 I see you, speak you ! Ah, were you but here, 
 How happy were we ! Yes, they love me ! Oft 
 I wake o' nights, a light within the room, 
 To see our aunt beside me. She doth pass 
 My chamber to her own, and ever looks 
 Within at passing. But to me no voice 
 Is, sister, as your own ; no touch so soft, 
 
152 Rahere. 
 
 And yet so easeful; and no kiss so 'sweet. 
 
 I wake, and waking miss them in the night. 
 
 But now I vex you. Darling, do not weep ! 
 
 No more of me, but tell me how you fare 
 
 At home, our home ah me ! so far away ! 
 
 So far ! Dost know when first I came, o' nights 
 
 I could not sleep for weeping could not live, 
 
 Methought, without you ; so one noon I stole 
 
 Without the gate, and took the Hendon lane 
 
 To London, heark'ning ever for the bells 
 
 To ring, and cheer me as Sir Whittington. 
 
 But ne'er the bells did ring, and weary, late, 
 
 I sat beneath the hedge to rest, and fell 
 
 To sleep, and slept till startled by the rush 
 
 Of horse-hoofs by me. Then I fearful woke, 
 
 To know the moon bright shining, and dismayed 
 
 Called out alarmful. Then came back the horse 
 
 Full speed, and stopped beside me, while a man 
 
 Leapt off and clasped me : " God be praised !" he said, 
 
 And so I had no terror, glad to find 
 
 'Twas uncle. Then he kissed me. ' Silly child, 
 
 Your aunt is well-nigh frantic ! Come you home !" ' 
 
 Amazed Rahere had never word. Cecile 
 Went prattling on, half tearful, half ashamed : 
 ' It was most foolish business, was it not ? 
 They said so, and I promised ne'er again 
 To go beyond the orchard or the croft. 
 But now come see the garden. One broad bed 
 Is all my own, I grow whate'er I choose ; 
 But mostly marigolds, because, Rahere, 
 One day you said you loved them best of all.' 
 
Rahere. 153 
 
 And seated in the orchard, on a bench, 
 Beneath a mossy apple-tree, whose fruit 
 Began to show the wooing of the sun 
 In tell-tale blushing, all her care forgot, 
 Who joyous as Cecilia ? 
 
 In her hand 
 
 Was tire of ivy, tinct with marigolds, 
 And daisies deftly plaited, chaplet gay 
 Wove for Rahere, and set upon her head, 
 With happy laughter and long lingering kiss. 
 
 But yet again Cecilia, prattling, woke 
 
 Unwonted chords within her sister's breast : 
 
 ' Last night, Rahere, I dreamed of whom but you ? 
 
 A pretty dream, and yet 'twas cruel too ! 
 
 I saw you in a garden, fairer far 
 
 Than any I have seen, or think to see, 
 
 So large it seemed to know no bounding, nor 
 
 Precinct of wall nor girdling thicket hedge, 
 
 But only hills of azure set with trees, 
 
 So tall they seemed to bear the clouds atop. 
 
 Oh, lovely was the garden ! I could bear 
 
 But hardly all the glitter and the sheen 
 
 Of flower and fruit and glossy leafiness ! 
 
 And you were there, so beautiful, the tears 
 
 Sprang to mine eyes for very pride of joy 
 
 All clad in white as bride to some great lord, 
 
 With crown as queen, and in your hand a bough 
 
 Of some fair tree. But, ah ! your lovely face ! 
 
 I saw the crown, the bough, the bridal gown, 
 
 But all were naught compared with your face. 
 
154 Rahere. 
 
 Oh, never face beside was half so sweet, 
 
 So calm, so grave, but yet with winsome smile ! 
 
 And in your eyes a marv'lous light, more clear 
 
 Than star, with never dazzling of the sun. 
 
 And as I looked I saw you lay your hand 
 
 Upon your heart, and, lo ! there sprang to view 
 
 Three names writ large. The first, Rahere, was God ; 
 
 The next, Cecile ; the next but now your hand 
 
 You took away, and sudden with mine own 
 
 The letters mingled, so I read them not. 
 
 Then called I out, " Rahere !" and strove to come 
 
 Whither you stood, but now for first perceived 
 
 A darksome river churning at my feet, 
 
 With waters deep and dreadful. Then I wept, 
 
 And, weeping, stretched my hands across the stream ; 
 
 But then you lift the tree bough in your hand, 
 
 And smiled, and all the sorrow fled my heart. 
 
 " A little while a little while, Cecile," 
 
 I heard within me, yet you nothing spake. 
 
 And now most lovely music filled the air, 
 
 While all the garden faded from my view 
 
 With you, but you the last of all ; and then 
 
 I waked, a lark loud singing overhead, 
 
 And all my chamber full of melody, 
 
 The lattice left ajar. Now, wast not strange 
 
 I thus should dream of you, Rahere, and thus 
 
 The morning of your coming ?' 
 
 Softly now 
 
 Rahere made answer, gazing fondly down 
 Into her sister's sparkling, quest'ning eyes : 
 ' 'Twas strange indeed, Cecilia. I did hear 
 
Raher e. 155 
 
 Our father, once discoursing upon dreams, 
 Say thus : " It oft in olden days hath pleased 
 The mighty Lord, in visions of the night, 
 When deep sleep falleth on the sons of men, 
 To speak them for their profit. Joseph drew 
 To greatness thus, and Daniel. Yet more near, 
 Warned by a dream, the wise men crafty turned 
 Their faces homeward by another way, 
 Bemocking Herod ; while the manger cratch 
 Was emptied of its burden, and by dream !" 
 
 ' To this did one make answer : " Yea, but still 
 The Preacher hath left record, ' Dreams do come 
 From multitude of business,' and the seer 
 Of Horeb bids his people put away 
 Dream-dreamers from their midst." 
 
 No more I heard, 
 
 For then came one and called me forth, and thus 
 The gist and ending of their argument 
 I lost, but think our father had the right. 
 So may your dream be portent, shadowing joy 
 For me, Cecile ; or be but phantasy 
 Of often thought, with naught but prettiness 
 For aim and ending.' 
 
 Thus replied Rahere 
 
 With air serene, but yet was greatly stirred ; 
 She knew not why, and inly felt a thrill 
 Of mordant apprehension pulse her heart. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Too soon, alas ! eve trod in track of day ; 
 Too soon the sunset shadowings creeping stole 
 
156 Rahere. 
 
 Across the meads, and clutched the broader fields. 
 Too soon the molten glories of the west 
 Paled out, the sable ancient of old Night 
 Hung in the east, where argent Lucifer 
 Burst from the purple glooming, and his ray 
 Lent to his darkening sister of the skies. 
 Now came the pain of parting. At the gate 
 Delight stood patient, while Cecilia clung 
 About Rahere. ' Come soon again, Rahere ; 
 Come soon and tell me all. You something hide ; 
 Your face is changed, but wherein cozens quest ! 
 Your eyes have other deeper light than wont. 
 And now at hearing summons at the gate, 
 Your look lit wondrous. Tell me, who is he, 
 This gentle ? Nay, " next time " may never be, 
 Rahere, sweet sister !' 
 
 ' Patience still awhile,' 
 Rahere made answer ; ' and of this be sure, 
 Whate'er may be, my love for thee will ne'er 
 Grow less, but greater. All my heartstrings twined 
 About thee, sister, never thought have I, 
 Or dream, or hope, but thou hast part, my own. 
 These kisses seal the compact these again. 
 Now get thee in, and trust me all in all.' 
 
 Now rode the lovers home, and as they rode 
 Night slowly lift her jewelled coronet 
 Up to her brows, and reigned benignant queen ; 
 While secretly soft dews, uprising, bathed 
 Earth's sweltered face with drops narcotic, sweet 
 As Eastern maidens pour for couch of kings. 
 
Rahere. 157 
 
 Again they took the less-frequented way, 
 But faster and in silence, till the youth, 
 As now they slower climbed a coppiced hill, 
 His mistress' hand took gently into his 
 With sportive question. 
 
 ' Why so silent, love ? 
 
 Hast fear, the road so lonesome, and the night 
 But yet as night should be so still and calm, 
 Delight doth tale our coming all abroad 
 With facund hoof- beat ? Sweet, there's naught to fear. 
 Give Parliament its due : the roads are safe, 
 And safer nearer to her seat and ken ; 
 Short shrift, swift justice, make our footpads few.' 
 Then answer made Rahere : ' No night to me 
 Is other than the day. Though sunny beam 
 Departeth for awhile, yet never He, 
 Light's Dayspring, shining ever more and more 
 About the paths of them that love Him, till 
 The perfect day.' 
 
 He silent ; spake again 
 Rahere in thoughtful accents : ' I am sad, 
 And know not why, yet sad with weight of ill 
 Implacable, impendent. Surely he 
 Did write the truth and wisely, he that said, 
 " No joy so great but runneth to an end." 
 Who glad as I at morning and at noon ? 
 Who duller now ? I can but think we stand 
 For ever girt about with essences, 
 Invisible but subtle, that do move 
 Our souls this way and that good hap or ill 
 Our portion in life's keeping biding time 
 
158 Rahere. 
 
 For friendly admonition.' Thus Rahere. 
 Then calmly spake her lover, while he kissed 
 Her clasping hand : 
 
 ' Sweet love, the damps of eve, 
 Dispelling now the fever heats of day, 
 Do press thee hardly. I, too, had been sad, 
 But that my queen doth banish dumpish thought 
 With voice and presence. Let us faster go, 
 So shall the life-blood flush thy gelid veins 
 Again to gladness.' 
 
 Quickening pace, erelong 
 
 They reached a lonesome graveyard, that by day 
 Rahere had viewed complacent, as a spot 
 Where toil-worn pilgrims might disturbless rest, 
 So peaceful was it mid overhanging trees. 
 But here the youth turned quickly : ' Look afar, 
 Rahere, afar ! Look not within the garth. 
 Another way, dear heart, but never this !' 
 So said, and cast about his mistress' form 
 Protective lover arm. 
 
 The shadowy croft 
 
 A goodly space behind, ' What didst thou see, 
 Dear Edward ?' asked Rahere, low whispering. 
 ' Why, nothing, sweet ; 'twas but in dread for thee.' 
 Thus he evasive. So again she spake : 
 ' Nay, tell me, Edward tell me what didst see ?' 
 ' Nay, love, 'twas naught.' Now chid Rahere, but not 
 Ungently : ' Edward, surely thou didst see, 
 What I perceived before thou criedst out, 
 Corpse candle set upon a brambled mound. 
 'Tis sign of ill death-presage ! Grant for me 
 The rather than for thee !' 
 
Rahere. 159 
 
 ' Now God forbid 
 
 The omen !' cried her lover ' yet 'twas so. 
 I would have hid the matter. Why didst see, 
 Rahere, the portent ? Jesu ward the ill, 
 If ill depend, from my sweet mistress' head !' 
 
 VI. 
 
 At Beech Hill, in the park, beside the stream 
 That, winding gently through the shelving meads, 
 Was now but eddying brook with grassy marge 
 And bed of glistening gravel, but anon, 
 Where Art, perfecting Nature, skilful drew 
 Apart its sinuous banks, was pretty lake 
 Bosomed in woody knolls young Hewett lay, 
 And thoughtful, heedless, gazed upon the scene. 
 
 Twas sunset ! All the water burned as blood, 
 
 And all the wood gave back the ruddy gleam 
 
 Of gold-edged cloudlet floating in the sky, 
 
 Meet canopy for crimson-orbed king 
 
 Weary of labour, like himself benign. 
 
 Soft from the grove came forth the cushat's note, 
 
 Fit interlude for lovers, with the purl 
 
 Of brook, and hum of bee, late lingering, loath 
 
 To leave his thymy banquet. Low the leaves 
 
 Moved by the mild and grateful gale that Eve 
 
 Called from the lake's calm bosom to awake 
 
 The woodland into dirge for dying day 
 
 'Gan murmur, as a thousand elfin harps, 
 
 Soft struck, a moment swelled to hearing, then 
 
 Sank into silence deeper for the strain. 
 
160 Rahere. 
 
 The youth lay still so still, from out a herd 
 
 Of fallow deer a buck came cautious forth 
 
 To view him, doubtful ; while above his head, 
 
 Like arrowy streak of blue, kingfisher flashed, 
 
 And snatched from out the pool his quivering meal. 
 
 Unheedful of him, harmless, all about 
 
 The conies browsed the sward ; a royal swan 
 
 Came lazy floating out the islet's shade, 
 
 A little while to wait th' expected call, 
 
 Then sail indignant by. But nothing saw 
 
 The lad of swan or cony, bird or deer, 
 
 His thoughts with his sweet mistress. Did she roam 
 
 Afield amid the flowers, scarce as fair 
 
 And sweet as she ? Or did her beauteous face 
 
 Show at her casement, 'neath the shade and guard 
 
 Of mailed knight ? Her thoughts, were they of him 
 
 And of the promise he had made her late, 
 
 To speak his father and reveal their love ? 
 
 But much the youth mistrusting what should hap 
 
 His love's avowal, nothing yet had said. 
 
 ' He'll show full wrathful, scheming, in his greed, 
 
 Fresh gain through me, rich-wedded, at his will. 
 
 Alas ! that lust of gold should never sate, 
 
 But greater grow with growth of mammon heap, 
 
 Faith, friendship, honour, charity, consumed 
 
 Like tinder in the furnace fire of greed ! 
 
 I am his only son, his only child ; 
 
 Would God his craze, as some say, had indeed 
 
 Myself for source and centre ! Foolish souls ! 
 
 And I were dead, his idol yet would be, 
 
Rahere. 161 
 
 And keenlier worshipped, lest unwelcome thought 
 Should gnaw his soul with viper memories. 
 
 ' But yet he must be told. Rahere, dear heart, 
 Should no entreaty move him, as of me, 
 I'll bring thee suppliant to his gaze. Thy face, 
 Thy look, thy smile, sense-stealing eloquence, 
 Must surely move him howsoe'er his heart 
 Is warped to other.' 
 
 Thus the passioned youth, 
 Till sudden, in his musing, came a voice : 
 ' I prithee, Master Edward, come anon ; 
 Sir Edward bids you to his presence. Come !' 
 An ancient servitor it was that spake, 
 Of lean and grizzled aspect, yet whose heart 
 Was young with honest love for him he bade 
 His father's chamber. So the lad arose. 
 ' What now, good Gilbert ?' Slow the old man shook 
 His hoary head. ' Why, truly, naught that's kind 
 Methinks, dear lad. He frowns and fumes like wife 
 Late married and first thwarted. In his hand 
 He held a letter. Hast thou run in debt ? 
 Best break a limb i' faith than shake his purse ; 
 Whate'er it be, speak soft and bide thy time.' 
 The hall attained, an old and ivied pile, 
 Moated in part, and set upon a slope 
 With avenue of elms, loud voiced with call 
 Of restless rook, home-turned at close of eve, 
 The lad clomb slow the terrace steps, the tail 
 Low-trailed of lazy peacock barring way. 
 
 A little off Sir Edward glouting stood, 
 His tall, thin form erect, his eyes ablaze. 
 
 ii 
 
1 62 Roller e. 
 
 Not yet had age abased his stately head, 
 
 Though trace of winter rime was in his hair. 
 
 True father was he, of as comely son 
 
 In feature and in bearing, Pity 'twas 
 
 Such goodly form could house such sordid soul ! 
 
 In anger now : ' So, sirrah, you are slow 
 
 To come at bidding. Nay, no words a wench 
 
 'Twould seem can move you faster, thousand times ! 
 
 I bade you to my closet. Sirrah, in !' 
 
 Now flushed the youth's proud face, yet said he naught, 
 
 Thought of Rahere restraining sharp reply ; 
 
 But followed as his angry father bade 
 
 To inner chamber. Here from out his vest 
 
 Sir Edward took a letter. ' I am told,' 
 
 He said in tones of mingled rage and scorn, 
 
 * Herein that you have plighted troth with one 
 
 Whose only dower is comeliness and craft ; 
 
 Some sluttish outcome of a sluttish dam, 
 
 Yourself, were you your father's son, would scorn 
 
 To courtesy, still less to take in arm 
 
 But as the passing plaything of an hour.' 
 
 Much moved, the lad made answer : ' Sir, 'tis truth, 
 And yet 'tis not, the truth so foully hid 
 In slander lie ! The maid is angel pure ; 
 No slut, but one whose picture on these walls, 
 Save one, would dull all others.' 
 
 Here the knight 
 
 Brake out sarcastic, while his steely eyes 
 Told louder of his anger than his tongue : 
 ' So love-sick lout doth ever brag his wench. 
 
Rahere. 163 
 
 Go ! give the girl a fairing, and have done. 
 There's naught in woman man may not attain, 
 From highest to the lowest, so he bid 
 But high enough and naught that's worth the wage !' 
 
 The youth was noble, and a noble shame 
 Now filled his soul, and, rising, burned his cheek, 
 And flamed his sparkling eye. ' Sir Edward, he 
 That had Dame Ellinor Lestrange to wife 
 Should think far other thinking. She I love, 
 Like her that sorrowing bore me to yourself, 
 No gift could cozen. Were Golconda mine 
 Set at her feet, she'd spurn it scornful loathe 
 The lecher tempter.' 
 
 Here Sir Edward laughed 
 A bitter laugh. ' Perchance to you, but not 
 To him her woman instincts follow soft 
 As spaniel after keeper. Boy, there s naught 
 In life that's worth an hour's pursuit but wealth, 
 With that it bourgeons, wise engend'rer, power. 
 A word within thine ear. Dost think for long 
 The nation will endure its present rule ? 
 Or that which bruited, next will follow on ? 
 The throne did topple down through tyranny 
 And tyranny shall set it up again, 
 But once the people cognizant of this, 
 Protector is but king, called otherwise. 
 I tell thee ere a year or two is gone, 
 The king will come again, while he that's rich 
 Will have the king in keeping. You do think, 
 With many more, I worship gold as gold. 
 
164 Rahere. 
 
 Now know me better. Larger plan have I 
 For self, and so for you. Enough of this, 
 And of your puling mistress. As your heart 
 Is set on wiving, I have made approach 
 On your behalf. My lord of Massinghurst, 
 Though poor, is high connexioned. We are rich 
 And gentle born. The girl is passing fair. 
 Once wedded, Hymen's sateful intercourse 
 Will bate your boyish fever otherwhere.' 
 
 Dismayed, the lad stood thoughtful, then began, 
 First doubtful, hesitant, thereafter firm : 
 ' With deference, sir, I am of age to choose 
 My wife, and take her never other hand ! 
 I love, and loving, plighted troth. For great 
 And small alike, can be no greater shame 
 Than faith-pledge rudely broken. I will wed 
 But only her I love, or rich or poor.' 
 
 Hot anger paled Sir Edward's face ; his tones 
 Were icy cold and slow, what time he made 
 Stern answer to his son's rebellious speech : 
 ' Do nothing foolish, sirrah. I will give 
 Thought ample time to gyve o'er-hasty speech. 
 To-morrow think it o'er. Next day I'll take 
 Your answer, but be well advised. No son 
 Are you if then your will encounter mine. 
 Your cousin shall inherit. All my wealth 
 I will him, so he promise what I ask. 
 No words ! no words ! but do your father's will, 
 Or know you never more your father's son. 
 Tis writ of Paul, " Children in everything 
 
Raher e. 165 
 
 Obey your parents, and so please the Lord." 
 If then 'twas needed, much more now. The text 
 Should hang about the neck of every chit 
 That deems himself a wiser than his sire.' 
 Sir Edward ending, fain the youth had urged 
 Somewhat remonstrant. But more haughtily 
 The knight bade silence : ' Sirrah, get you gone ! 
 Your duty is plain-portioned. Nay, no more !' 
 
 Dismissed, the lad long time beside the lake 
 Paced troubled and uncertain. Nothing he 
 Had of his own : his mother's ample dower 
 Gone but to swell his father's store ; her kiss 
 And blessing all his heritage, at end 
 Her weary soul's unselfish pilgrimage. 
 What could he, driven forth his father's hall, 
 But sink to clod at home, or parasite, 
 Or mercenary to a friendly state 
 Abroad, or danger-vironed pioneer 
 In verdant Delaware, Connecticut, 
 Or fair Virginia, loyal last of all ? 
 
 So all night long, with aching heart, the lad 
 Moved restless, ever in his ears the stetti 
 And threatening accents of his angry sire ; 
 And ever tugging at his heart his love ; 
 And ever present, phantom of his thought, 
 Rahere's fair face, and love-compelling eyes, 
 For heart-ache comrade of his harass watch. 
 Day brake, and then, outwearied, lay he down 
 Awhile within his chamber. But his sleep 
 Was fitful, broken, aye-returning thought 
 With each awakening bringing deeper pain. 
 
i66 Rahere. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Slow wore the morn away, to him an age ; 
 And lingering noon gone by, he rode Delight 
 To London, there again to meet Rahere. 
 'Twas now her custom nigh the little wood 
 To wait her lover's coming. Then at end 
 Their greetings, would she lay her gentle head 
 Upon Delight's soft mane, and pat his neck 
 With word of proud endearment, while the horse 
 Would paw the ground impatient, glad 
 Again to bear the fairest mistress e'er 
 His kind did burthen ! 
 
 So to-day she stood 
 A little off the copse, within the way, 
 A chaplet hanging from her hand, her eyes 
 Lustrous with joy that daily grew to more. 
 Half proud, half shy, with diffidence of love, 
 She stood sweet vision, never more from out 
 His anguished heart to vanish. Stood fair maid, 
 Her cheeks, like summer roses flushed at eve, 
 With deeper ruddier radiance ; while her long 
 Dark tresses let adown for so he loved 
 Hung graceful all about her virgin dress 
 Of snow-white cam'lot. Ah, so fair, so pure, 
 So winsome was she, that the tears, all night 
 Kept back of manly shame, now sudden filled 
 His eager eyes, and in his heart he cried : 
 ' My love ! my love ! Rahere, mine only love ! 
 And must I give thee up at callous call 
 Of miser father !' Sighing drew he rein, 
 
Rahere. 167 
 
 Apale with deep emotion. She in haste 
 Sprang to his side : ' Dear heart, how pale your face ! 
 Your eyes are dulled ! Your hands are deathly cold ! 
 You tremble, Edward ! Tell me, all is well ?' 
 
 So said she troubled, all the summer blood 
 Departing from her cheeks, as swift she set 
 His hand against her lips, while answering tears 
 Shone in her eyes, like dewdrops flushed of morn. 
 Quick, bending in his seat, he kissed the lips, 
 And eyes so oft entreating : ' Nay, 'tis naught ; 
 Come mount you up, my queen ! A little way.' 
 Nay, stay you here, my Edward. You are wan. 
 Come sit within the wood. Yon ivy bank, 
 With droop of ashen bough for canopy, 
 Doth proffer welcome seat.' Within the wood 
 Thus urged, he slowly rode, and then Delight 
 Made fast to nether bough, they sat them down. 
 ' Now tell me all your trouble. Do not hide 
 A thought, of thought to lessen aught for me. 
 I am affliction's daughter. Tell me all !' 
 So said she bravely, combating the dread 
 That chilled her, and for all she fought it down. 
 
 Soon all was told. Then sank her lovely head 
 Upon his heaving bosom. Sighing deep, 
 She lay there long, rapt haven of her hopes, 
 Then spake him trem'lous, sorrow making still 
 More musical than wont her silvery tones : 
 ' He is your father, Edward. Oh, my love, 
 He is your father !' Then again was still, 
 Save for the swift uplifting of her arm, 
 
i68 Rahere. 
 
 To clasp his bending neck, and draw his lips 
 
 Down to her fevered own. Through all her frame 
 
 He felt the throbbing of her agony, 
 
 And murmured, what he knew not, of his love, 
 
 With hundred pretty names, and kisses hot 
 
 On cheek and lip and brow. 
 
 Now lift she up 
 
 Her tearful face, and spake him once again : 
 ' He is your father, Edward. Though it break 
 My heart, you must obey him. Foolish I 
 To think a moment he would suffer you 
 Wed such an one as I ! There is no way, 
 But you must please him, and forget Rahere !' 
 Here cried her lover madly : ' Love, dear love ! 
 You cannot love me truly, an you bid 
 Me wed another !' 
 
 Here she bitter sighed, 
 
 Then kissed the lips that spake such unkind word : 
 ' Not love you, Edward ! I not love you ! I, 
 So lone that gift of honest love did seem 
 Like manna fall'n from heav'n !' Again her head 
 Sank on his breast, again her trembling arms 
 Drew him the closer, while she murmured low : 
 ' Yet once again, my darling, let me rest, 
 And nestle where I foolish thought to lie 
 Through years of untold bliss and happiness.' 
 
 Then made he fervid answer : ' Lie thou so, 
 Rahere, for ever ! All will I forego 
 Name, home, and wealth, so only, sweet, not thee !' 
 She sighed, then turned, still resting on his breast, 
 
Rahere. 169 
 
 But turned enough her mournful eyes might see 
 The face of him she loved so well and true : 
 ' Nay, Edward, nay ! Yet do I thank thee, love, 
 For such great proffer none but noble heart 
 Could proffer simple maid ! It must not be ! 
 But now thou saidst I did not love thee true ; 
 In truth, I did not, could not, did I take 
 Such sacrifice at these dear clasping hands ! 
 Disheired, and all for me. No, no ! and yet 
 How can I let thee go, and live my life, 
 Made duller thousand-fold for glimpse of light, 
 Grateful as sunbeam blessing dungeon cell ! 
 Ah me ! ah me ! and yet what must be, must ! 
 For thee, dear heart, your sire's enforced will ; 
 For me, more patient bearing of the cross 
 The Father of all mercies lays on me, 
 With this for comfort ever in my heart : 
 I have been loved perchance am still where'er 
 Fate drives me, and my darling, far removed.' 
 
 So said she, pitiless to self, her thought 
 
 Alone for him, for whom her lonesome soul 
 
 Yearned with a love unspeakable ; so bleak, 
 
 So cold, so dreary, life without him now ! 
 
 He, groaning, strained her closer to his breast, 
 
 Urged by her love to render all for love, 
 
 But did not, dreading Fortune's hidden store, 
 
 So kept him silent. Sigh for sigh they gave 
 
 Long time, with lips that met in lingering kiss, 
 
 Till length'ning shadowings filled the murm'ring wood, 
 
 And the low sun began to farewell earth. 
 
170 Rahere. 
 
 Then drew Rahere away. ' Farewell ! farewell ! 
 Oh, woe is me, that I must say the word ! 
 But yet it must be spoken. Edward, kiss 
 Me once again ! Be happy ! Do not fret 
 With thought of me ; but if thou canst, forget. 
 Farewell ! thou'st far to ride. Poor, poor Delight !' 
 
 A kiss she set upon the horse's neck, 
 
 Then swiftly moved away with streaming eyes. 
 
 Far better thus that she had gone ; but now, 
 
 Moved by the lover tempest in his soul, 
 
 He sprang her after, clasped her, turned again 
 
 Her wistful face towards him, passionate ; 
 
 Then spake in quick and bated breath : ' Rahere ! 
 
 There is a way, himself did urge it. I 
 
 But here he faltered, trembling, and with shame, 
 Nor dared to meet her virgin gaze, but cast 
 His burning eyeballs earthward. ' Oh, my love, 
 'Twere death to me with other, living death ! 
 We must not part. Rahere ! Rahere ! of old 
 Men after His own heart, who planted love 
 Deep in our own for endlessness of life, 
 Had wives, and others, wives in all but name.' 
 
 Here faltered he again, while she, amazed, 
 Heard and not heard for anguish thrill of shame. 
 He moved anew from madness of his love 
 To speech, and out her silence snatching hope, 
 Perceiving not 'twas horror held her lips, 
 Spake wildly : 
 
 ' Rachel only was beloved, 
 And yet was Leah wife to Jacob too. 
 He sinned not, spousing both. Rahere ! Rahere !' 
 
Rahere. 171 
 
 Her arms fell slow from off his traitor neck, 
 As from his grasp she drew her slow away. 
 One mournful look she gave him, as he stood 
 Confused, nor daring to behold her face. 
 No word she spake, no tear she shed, no moan 
 Brake from her breaking heart, but slow away 
 She moved as one in dream with aimless tread. 
 A little space she went, then turned again, 
 Came swiftly back to snatch his listless hand 
 And press it to her lips, her quivering lips ; 
 Then spake as one that speaks from o'er the grave : 
 ' God bless thee, Edward, darling ! I forgive !' 
 
 He let her go, scarce knowing what he did ; 
 
 His mad eyes blurred with hot and blistering tears, 
 
 His brain awhirl, his heart with tumult throb 
 
 Anear to bursting forth its fleshly cell. 
 
 He let her go. Ah, God ! that shame could hold 
 
 Him so fast bonded that he made no sign 
 
 Could speak no word could only see her go 
 
 In agony of silence, misery, shame ! 
 
 He let her go Rahere, dear child of woe ! 
 
 Her hands fast clasped, her weeping eyes upturned 
 
 To that far home of many mansions His 
 
 Whose love alone was left her, earthly love, 
 
 So soon to gall within her virgin soul, 
 
 Turned to her desolation. 
 
 Thus she went, 
 
 But not alone, for out aerial height 
 Came, at the cry that rived her strickeii heart, 
 A sister-spirit, mild, compassionate, 
 
172 Rahere. 
 
 Unseen, but not unfelt, whose angel hand 
 Touched heart and brain and heav'n-imploring eyes, 
 And bade the fountain of her crystal tears 
 Flow, and relieve her overburdened soul. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Within her gateway chamber sat Rahere, 
 As Niobe distract, her children slain, 
 Fair progeny, late born of virgin dream 
 Of holy wedlock, honest spousal joy. 
 Upon her lap there lay an ancient book 
 Of prayers and litanies, by one who sealed 
 His faith in fiery torments in the days 
 That Spanish Philip wrought the land annoy. 
 
 'Twas midnight, and her taper, overhung 
 With fateful winding-sheet, and guttering low, 
 Told of the wakeful misery that held 
 Her gentle spirit captive, and repelled 
 Still-footed Sleep and poppy-winged Repose. 
 Ah, mournful was her face, as one that sees, 
 Spell-bound, the labour of his life destroyed ; 
 Nor voice can raise, nor hand can lift to save. 
 With weeping dulled, her piteous eyes the page 
 Scanned as with hope of comfort ; but no help 
 Drew from the collect, quaint initialled, nor 
 The pious meditation, earnest conned 
 By buried generations. Still as death, 
 Droop-headed sat she long time ; then she sighed, 
 And, sighing, shut the book. 
 
Rahere. 173 
 
 ' My heart is dead 
 
 Within me. Ah, forgive me if I sin, 
 Great Lord of all, for that I cannot say 
 As yet, "Thy will be done !" So deeply set 
 Within our hearts the roots of mortal love, 
 Uptorn, we groaning perish ! Edward, love, 
 How couldst thou harbour such ungentle thought 
 Against me helpless ?' 
 
 Rising up in haste, 
 
 She trod the cell impatient, then resought 
 The larger chamber, where so oft of late 
 She watched her lover's coming. Still the night 
 And warm, and so the casement stood ajar. 
 The moon was in her crescent, rising late, 
 And thus gave little radiance, yet enough 
 To fright the gloom and glint the warrior mail, 
 And life the time-old portraits on the wall. 
 
 Beneath the glimmering panoply she sat, 
 
 And laid her aching brow upon the cold 
 
 And dinted corselet of the monkish knight. 
 
 There sat she drowsed with sorrow, till disturbed 
 
 By lazy call of watchman, sleepy ears 
 
 Disquieting with tidings of the night. 
 
 Then woke again sad memory to sting 
 
 Anew her heart. ' Ah me, my love, my life ! 
 
 In fancy I did set thee up so high, 
 
 Man-angel sent of heav'n to comrade me, 
 
 So desolate, love-hungry, lonely, sad ; 
 
 And thou wouldst thrust me down to concubine ! 
 
 Ah, villain thought, to stain such lofty soul ! 
 
174 Roller e. 
 
 My lord my one time Edward false to name, 
 To me, to honour, and thy worthier self, 
 I love thee still I love thee ! God forgive 
 Me now for loving honour bidding hate. 
 But that I cannot. Thou, too, lov'st the men 
 Thou madest, howsoe'er Thou hatest sin ; 
 And I am but a woman, made for him 
 And of him, lest his Eden Paradise 
 Should desert prove untrod of wifely mate.' 
 
 Again she laid her head upon the mail , 
 
 Again the piteous silence of the night 
 
 Gave back her sighs, returned her moan for moan 
 
 Till once again a prayer upon her lips 
 
 For him she, overborne, unquiet slept. 
 
 And sleeping so did seem to her a face 
 
 Fair as her own, but calm with mighty peace, 
 
 Did smile upon her ; while her being thrilled 
 
 With voice whose accents naught might intercept 
 
 Ethereal or material, yet were sweet 
 
 And musical withal as woodland rill : 
 
 ' A little while, a little while, Rahere, 
 
 And churlish woe is janitor to bliss ! 
 
 Weep, then, no more. E'en now cloud messengers, 
 
 Moved by His will, who worketh good of ill, 
 
 Do gather latent in their sulphurous womb 
 
 New birth for thee, that evermore shalt joy.' 
 
 ***** 
 Meanwhile her lover, equal in his pain, 
 With added sting of guilty shame, night long 
 
Ralur e. 175 
 
 Trod anguished up and down the dewy mead 
 For ever in his heart remorse ; and aye, 
 Rahere, as last he saw her, in his brain ; 
 And ever in his ears her last, last words : 
 ' God bless thee, Edward, darling ! I forgive ! 
 
 Dear God ! what scorpion whips we knot, who yield 
 
 Ourselves to devil-tempting and the lure 
 
 Of fever-flesh ! What dragon crops of ill 
 
 Spring from our madsome sowing ! Weary nights 
 
 Made sleepless of remembrance ; agony 
 
 Of thought retributive ; soul-madd'ning shades 
 
 Of deadly wrong ; remorse unquenchable, 
 
 With goad of hell to lacerate the heart 
 
 Too late repentant ! Woe of woes to feel 
 
 At length the curse of evil, and to know 
 
 We in our folly, selfish, heedless spread 
 
 The plague, and reckless heaped the pile of sin ! 
 
 Nor less to know nor look nor word nor deed 
 
 Ours to recall, by prayer, repentance, tear ! 
 
 The present ours alone, and what shall spring 
 
 From it, unknown, the future. 
 
 But the past ! 
 
 Ah, God, the past ! Thou keep'st it in Thine hand 
 Inviolate. We can but weeping fall 
 With pleading hands outstretched, and mournful cry, 
 ' Undo for me undo for me, dear Lord, 
 The wrong that haunts me ! Kill the seeds of sin 
 I sometime sowed, lest in the day of doom 
 The harvest of my madness, mighty grown, 
 Press me to silence, self-condemned, and death.' 
 
176 Rahere. 
 
 Most sad the youth ! The bitterest grief he knew 
 
 The livelong night. The wind compassionate, 
 
 Came fragrant from its journeyings o'er the meads 
 
 To kiss his brow and cool his fevered cheek ; 
 
 Then, laden with his sighing, stole away, 
 
 To spread the tale, meek sorrowing, through the chase. 
 
 Thus he outwatched the night. But when the Morn, 
 
 Gray-clad, her amber ringers at her lip, 
 
 Stole silent to the couch of slumbering Day, 
 
 And waked her virgin blushing, then resolve 
 
 Rose in his heart. 
 
 ' Now God forgive me, love 
 E'en as thou prayedst selfish thought unclean ! 
 Farewell, dear home, if so must be. No more 
 I tread these pleasant paths ! Farewell, brave spot 
 Dear by a hundred recollections sweet 
 Of her that gave me being ! Mother, bless 
 Thine erring son ! That I should project ill 
 Against thee through another pure as thou ! 
 Rahere ! Rahere ! heav'n's fair embodiment, 
 Gold against thee ! Most monstrous ! Love, ere Night 
 Again doth draw the curtains of the sky, 
 Laid at thy feet true penitent, I plead 
 Far otherwise, my queen, than yester-e'en ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Fair was the day, bemocking sorrowing heart 
 With gleam and sheen. No cloud beflecked the sky ; 
 The yellow sun poured down its beams undimmed, 
 And, upward soaring, drawing nigh to noon, 
 Flooded the face of earth with fruitful fire. 
 
Rahere. 1 77 
 
 Sir Edward now bade fetch his son. The youth, 
 With pallid face but stern, obeyed the call, 
 And, silent, made obeisance. Then the knight, 
 Loud-voiced and truculent, as one that reads 
 Resistance in the look of him he speaks, 
 And rudely would overbear it : ' Boy, the time 
 I gave you for reflection is at end ; 
 Your answer, and in brief. You know me well 
 Too well to doubt fulfilment of my threat : 
 Disheritance, or wedlock chos'n of me !' 
 
 Then urged the lad respectful : ' Sir, I fain 
 With hope to move you yet to sympathy 
 Would tell you first what chanced but yester-eve 
 Betwixt my love and me.' 
 
 ' Nay, never word !' 
 
 The knight returned, ungently and in haste ; 
 ' Your answer and no more !' 
 
 Deep sighing now, 
 
 The youth made answer : ' Sir, I cannot do 
 Your will in this. I dare not link my life 
 To one I love not swear fidelity, 
 With ever lover-longing in my heart, 
 And passion for another.' 
 
 Now uprose 
 
 The knight, and drew him nearer : ' Yet again, 
 That none may say I moved in over-haste 
 Against you, though rebellious, yet my son, 
 I bid you think again. You deem me rich, 
 And so I am, and yet and yet again ! 
 None know but I what secret hoards are mine, 
 
 12 
 
178 Rahere. 
 
 For all my gifts perforce to Parliament ! 
 
 Has gold lost charm for youth ? a pretty face, 
 
 Now white, now pink, as passion pales or burns, 
 
 More draws him, sottish, than the magnet wealth 
 
 That would allure a hundred to his feet 
 
 As beautiful as Phryne, or the slut 
 
 That havocked Ilium ? Answer me again !' 
 
 Again the lad's pale face flushed honest red, 
 As quick he answered, stern, contemptuous, cold : 
 1 Wealth so employed were surely devil-chain, 
 Fiend-forged, to drag the debauchee to hell. 
 Perish the thought in me ! But yester-eve, 
 Bane-seed, of you implanted in my breast, 
 Upsprang to plant, that pois'nous fired my blood 
 To madness, and had sullied other too, 
 But for the Christ-given chastity that kept 
 Her spirit from pollution. Sir, farewell ! 
 You have my answer !' 
 
 ' Ay, and you, sir, mine !' 
 Sir Edward cried in fury. ' Get you gone ! 
 No longer son of mine, when I return, 
 Let me not find you hither ! Ere an hour 
 Is gone, Beech Hill, with all beside, shall pass 
 From you for ever ! Prater, get you gone !' 
 
 With heavy heart the lad withdrew, erelong 
 
 To see his father swiftly ride away 
 
 Towards Hadleigh and the scrivener's. Then, o'ercome, 
 
 The hot tears seared his eyes, his voice was choked. 
 
 Old Gilbert coming soon with troubled face, 
 
 Part guessed, part known, the lad's distressful fate, 
 
Rahere. 179 
 
 ' Nay, Master Edward, say 'tis never true,' 
 The old man whimpered ; ' yet Sir Edward bade 
 Us never name you more. Is gone in haste 
 To Scrivener Hurst at Hadleigh. Bade us know 
 Henceforth for master after him, Sir Giles, 
 Your kinsman sorry master he, God wot ! 
 A lech'rous, brawling lad as ever wrecked 
 Estate, and trailed a goodly name in mire, 
 But turned of late to nasal saint and shrew.' 
 
 ' 'Tis true too true, alas ! for me, old friend : 
 Sir Edward bade me that I could not do 
 Be that enough and so am cast adrift. 
 Now leave me ; come again an hour at end ; 
 Till then I fain would be alone. Nay, go ! 
 I must prepare me must have space for thought. 
 You cannot aid me !' 
 
 Left alone, the lad 
 
 Turned to the chamber where the portrait hung 
 Of her, his much-loved mother. Silent here 
 He stood awhile, rapt gazing, as he ne'er 
 Might gaze his fill, then sadly spake : ' Sweet saint 
 And mother, have I done the thing thy lips 
 Had counselled? If so, speak me comfort now. 
 A little while and I am far away 
 From home and this thy living lineament ; 
 But thou, where'er thou joyest, look on me, 
 Soul of thy soul : my mother, send me peace !' 
 
 So for an hour the youth remained, now lost 
 In bitter thought and gloomy reverie ; 
 Now mournful, gazing upward at the face, 
 
i8o Rahere. 
 
 Whose parted lips seemed smiling fondly down, 
 As they would whisper, ' Patience, patience, child ! 
 Bear thou thy cross, with God as arbiter 
 Of that thou doest, be it good or ill.' 
 
 ' Farewell !' at length he murmured. ' In my heart 
 
 Thy face is burned as saint in minster glass. 
 
 Farewell ! Should passion tempt again, I'll turn 
 
 My riot fancy inward ; cooling draught 
 
 Drink at those wells of angel purity, 
 
 Thine eyes, and out thy truth-imparting mouth 
 
 Draw wisdom, counsel, solace, and control.' 
 
 Thus he, then turned, but scarce a step, when hands 
 
 Were noisy laid against the fast'ned door, 
 
 While voices clamoured loudly : 
 
 ' Sir, come forth ! 
 
 Come forth ! his honour's nigh to gasp. Come forth !' 
 In haste the bolt slid back ; he bid them cease 
 Their clamour one to speak him, and for all. 
 Old Gilbert then : ' Sir Edward's horse had come 
 Again to hall, but riderless, so some 
 Had gone adown the avenue, to find 
 The knight upon the road in pool of blood ! 
 'T would seem he furious, heedless riding, fell, 
 And some way had been dragged.' 
 
 With awful look 
 
 The youth received the tale : ' Chirurgeon one 
 Go fetch, and quick ; ride as for life ! Come not 
 Again without him !' Then, ' Where is he now ?' 
 ' Beside the walk.' ' Then some bring wattles, cloaks, 
 And cordials !' 
 
Rahere. 181 
 
 Now beneath the arching elms 
 The lad ran swiftly. Nigh the Hadleigh lodge 
 His father lay unconscious. Kneeling down 
 With horror at his heart, for that his thoughts 
 Had been so bitter 'gainst the stricken man, 
 However justly, yet his father still 
 He took his senseless hand, and gripped it fast, 
 With frequent word of filial tenderness, 
 Compassion, and forgiveness. 
 
 Softly borne 
 
 Erelong to hall, and laid upon his bed, 
 Sir Edward, moaning grievous, woke to life, 
 To see the son, so lately spurned, o'erhang 
 His couch with gen'rous sorrow. Then a flush, 
 Quick mounting, fired his ashen cheek, as thought 
 Came back with mem'ry of his hate ; he turned 
 His battered head aside, and, frowning, groaned. 
 
 Small hope ! so went the murmur round the hall. 
 Chirurgeon aid obtained, the wise man's head 
 Shook ominous ; his scrutiny at end, 
 ' His hours are o'er,' he whispered to the youth ; 
 ''Twere best at once to send for minister.' 
 'Twas softly said, but yet Sir Edward heard, 
 And, careless smiling, made him faint reply : 
 ' No need for leech to tell me I am sped. 
 Do you your best ; send not for minister.' 
 
 Soon all was done to comfort and assuage, 
 
 The while the knight, pain-swooned, lay deathly still. 
 
 Then sense returning, gazing round, he bade 
 
 All leave him for the present but his son. 
 
1 82 Rahere. 
 
 Then spake Sir Edward feebly : ' Son, forgive 
 
 'Tis hand of God. He would have turned me back. 
 
 I saw the Huntsman's spectre warning glide 
 
 Across my path, with pointing hand to hall, 
 
 But would not home, my heart so full of wrath.' 
 
 No more the wan lips proffered for a time, 
 
 Till, rousing up, the knight, with energy, 
 
 Spake for a moment, somewhat as of old : 
 
 ' I do withdraw all thwarting ! Wed the maid, 
 
 And on you both my blessing.' 
 
 Here the youth, 
 
 All overjoyed, sprang up. The wounded man 
 Smiled grimly : ' Son, be worthier spouse than 1 ! 
 Too late I see true love doth outweigh gold. 
 Give me again the potion quick, 1 faint !' 
 
 A little after : ' Bring me now my keys 
 From yonder escritoire. See this, the least, 
 Doth ope a drawer within the nearer claw. 
 Go, bring me that thou findest Ay, boy, ay ! 
 Tis well concealed a key, and nothing else ! 
 A little key ! Well, oft great things do spring 
 From small beginnings. Turn you to the wall, 
 And mark the panel second from the hearth ; 
 Count now the acorns on the right ; the sixth 
 Unscrew. Hast done it ? Ay, a hidden lock. 
 That key doth fit it. Hist ! I had forgot ; 
 First fast the door ; some knave might enter in.' 
 
 Exhausted now the knight lay breathing hard, 
 
 His son again beside him, holding still 
 
 The curious key that matched the panel lock. 
 
Rahere. 183 
 
 His eyes unclosing soon, Sir Edward saw 
 The clef, and motioned eager to the wall : 
 ' Go, open, and within,' he whispered ; so 
 The lad arose, and turned the key, to find 
 The panel, doorway, and beyond a space 
 Dim lighted, then an ancient orat'ry 
 Built in the wall, with loophole ivy-clad. 
 
 And going in, on every side was wealth, 
 
 The mow of years gold harvest sprung, full oft, 
 
 From seed of neighbour need or indigence, 
 
 Watered with widows' tears, and mulched with shame, 
 
 Perchance, of maidens, sold for sustenance, 
 
 And riped with curses wrung from orphan hearts 
 
 Reaped callous year by year, by him who now 
 
 Lay dying, and from out his royal store 
 
 Ease but an instant from his agony 
 
 Might never take the dross untroubled still, 
 
 Though hell's worst pangs did rive its owner's soul. 
 
 Here parchments lay ! Here money-bags ! Here gauds 
 
 For neck and breast, with pendants ; these, too, laid 
 
 Of whim, or very recklessness of greed, 
 
 Upon the marble altar-slab, beneath 
 
 A broken crucifix, that still its place 
 
 Kept on the sordid wall. A heavy sigh 
 
 Brake from the youth, astonished, gazing round : 
 
 ' For this, and nought but this, a lifetime long, 
 
 How many a troubled heart this gold has broke ! 
 
 How many might have solaced !' Then the rood 
 
 He saw, and, all astounded, groaned. 
 
 'Ah, Lord, 
 
184 Rahere. 
 
 Better Thy pain and poverty and thorns, 
 Than ease and riches, all so ill attained !' 
 
 Now heard he once again his father's voice, 
 All feebly calling. Quickly going back, 
 He closed the panel. ' Call you quick the leech,' 
 Sir Edward murmured. So, the bolt withdrawn, 
 He fetched the man, who gravely shook his head. 
 ' He has been talking overmuch ; 'twere best, 
 Indeed, he slept. I'll mix him now a draught 
 Somniferous.' 
 
 This given, erelong the knight 
 Sank into slumber stertorous, but first 
 Had prest his son's responsive hand and smiled. 
 
 ' Now will he sleep long time ! Good sir, you look 
 As you, too, needed rest. Go, lay you down ! 
 He will not rouse till night. I'll take your place.' 
 Thus the chirurgeon. Then love-hunger woke 
 Within the lad : ' Art sure, Sir Andrew ? Much 
 I fain would do within the next few hours, 
 If might be done without unkind neglect.' 
 ' Canst safely do it. Yet I'd urge thee sleep, 
 For fear mayst have to watch the livelong night.' 
 
 X. 
 
 Erelong Delight, caparisoned, in haste 
 
 Her ardent master bore along the road. 
 
 ' Rahere ! Rahere ! now, love, to make amends 
 
 For Bedlam suit and tempting ! Ah, to throw 
 
 Myself at those dear feet, so lately turned 
 
 In such meek sorrow homeward, and from me !' 
 
Rahere. 185 
 
 Fleet was Delight and eager, as she knew 
 Herself love's courier of joy to her, 
 Her sometime beauteous burthen. Fleet, but still 
 Snail-paced to him that rode her, chiding oft 
 The willing brute for laggardness, so fast 
 Impatient love outrunning steed in race. 
 
 But nearing town, clouds gathered ; and the sun, 
 O'ercast of scud and wrack -storm's harbinger 
 Withheld his gleam. The lark gave o'er his song, 
 Disturbed, to seek the shelter of his nest ; 
 The cattle slow across the quivering field 
 Moved lowing to their covert. Soon afar 
 The cloud-heaped sky 'gan flashing, where it clad 
 Earth's dusky breast with pall of angry dun. 
 Now came the thunder, muttering low, and yet 
 Infrequent and slow-rolling. 
 
 At the sound 
 The youth looked back. ' Quick, now, Delight ; there's 
 
 storm 
 A-brewing ! Quick ! and we escape it yet !' 
 
 So 'twas ; the gate was reached before the rain 
 Came down apace, though pattering drops presaged 
 The coming tempest, and made bare the streets. 
 The youth looked up. No face adorned the pane, 
 No form aneared the casement, though Delight, 
 As in th' unwonted stillness so did seem, 
 Gave forth more noisy tidings of approach. 
 In haste he led the horse within the yard, 
 Called forth the boy, and gave the brute in charge 
 
1 86 Rahere. 
 
 Then questioned Gould, who also came at call : 
 
 ' Where is she, friend ? where is she ? Tell me quick ! 
 
 All's well all's well ! Sir Edward gives consent.' 
 
 A light lit up the farrier's honest face : 
 
 ' Good news is that, young master ! Something wrong 
 
 I thought betwixt you, surely, and the maid, 
 
 Who all night long was sorrowing, and to-day 
 
 Did naught but wander restless up and down, 
 
 Her work neglected, yet would nothing say, 
 
 Until an hour agone, upon the stair, 
 
 When Mary met her dressed for outer walk.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; but tell me whither she has gone !' 
 The youth brake in impatient. ' See, the rain 
 Begins to fall ; waste never time, but tell !' 
 1 In church, then, will you find her. She'll ne'er harm 
 Within its flinty walls from wind or rain.' 
 So Gould replied. The lad, with lover haste, 
 His riding cloak drawn close about him, turned, 
 And up the lane, and o'er the martyr-field, 
 Made for the fane, through storm and plash and peal. 
 * * * * * 
 
 Within the church, Rahere, more peaceful, knelt, 
 
 Her face less wan, her eyes less dimmed with tears ; 
 
 For felt she not again the comfort clasp 
 
 Of spirit arms ? Again did she not hear 
 
 The echo voice of prayerful centuries 
 
 Persuade her softly : ' Daughter, pray. Alone 
 
 In prayer is peace. Pray thou for him and thee !' 
 
 Did she not kneel before the altar seat 
 
 Of Him whose presence age-long blessed the fane ? 
 
Roller &. 187 
 
 Was not the tomb of him whose name she bore, 
 Himself with hands uplift in prayer, anear ? 
 Did not her mother sleep beneath the stone 
 Whereon she knelt, her father restful by ? 
 
 So slid into her heart the peace of God, 
 
 That passeth understanding perfect peace, 
 
 Such as the world knows not, gives not the peace 
 
 From Him proceeding who alone is peace, 
 
 And giveth of His bounty unto them, 
 
 Pure souls, their pilgrimage approaching end 
 
 That see in ecstasy the golden gates 
 
 And streets of Salem. 
 
 Thus the gathering storm 
 Did but in her, composed, awake the sense 
 Of fellowship with Him by whose consent 
 World elements do conflict. Nigh the shrine 
 She knelt with eyes ecstatic ; on her lips 
 Low breathed prayer for him who even now 
 Stood at the porch, its brazen latch in hand. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 He entered, saw her meekly kneeling ; then, 
 
 The while his soul was full of lover joy, 
 
 The while her name did pulse upon his lips 
 
 True penitent, with heartfelt word of love 
 
 The flame leaped forth a mighty flame that filled 
 
 The church, and ached his eyeballs with its glare. 
 
 Sight-blinded, all was blur, and mist, and daze ; 
 
 While the fierce thunder crashed, and rolled, and shook 
 
 The jarring casements every side, the piers, 
 
 For all their vastness, quivering at the shock/ 
 
i88 Rahere. 
 
 Recovering, gazed he eagerly around. 
 
 Rahere lay prone. Was't fear ? was't shock ? Alarmed, 
 
 He drew anigh, ' Rahere !' called softly, then 
 
 More loudly ; then ran forward, and upraised 
 
 The fallen maid. ' Rahere, look up ! Rahere !' 
 
 Then, sudden, uttered loud and bitter cry : 
 
 ' Rahere ! Rahere ! Ah, God ! and can it be, 
 
 My darling dead ? Rahere ! My life ! Rahere !' 
 
 Hard by a settle stood, of oak, and black 
 
 With pass of years rich carved of monkish craft, 
 
 With winged monsters ribbed and tailed, and wreaths 
 
 Most fanciful and laboured. Lifting up, 
 
 With bitter moan, her droop and yielding form, 
 
 He bore her to the seat, and laid her down, 
 
 His arm beneath her head the lovely head 
 
 That yester-eve made pillow of his breast, 
 
 Her so desired haven ! 
 
 Kneeling, he 
 
 In agony bent o'er her, oft and oft 
 Kissing the lips, still warm, that nevermore, 
 Alas ! might heed the fire of lover kiss, 
 Or yield him somewhat back of sympathy. 
 
 Grief-martyred nevermore, upon her face 
 Was peace supreme, ineffable ; no trace 
 Of passion conflict left, nor sorrow, loss ; 
 But only peace, with look of glad surprise, 
 As one that unexpectant greeteth friend, 
 Long loved, but long time parted. 
 
Rahere. 189 
 
 So she lay, 
 
 Heav'n-tranced, and calm as chrisom babe asleep, 
 While o'er her wept her lover ; and the storm 
 Rolled on, and all the darkling fane was loud 
 With mortal lamentation, and the voice 
 Of God, in accents thunderous, that drowned 
 The crying of His creature, frenzy-wild. 
 
 XL 
 
 Far otherwise than when he came the youth 
 
 Returned to Beech Hill and his dying sire. 
 
 Then rode he all impatience eager, full 
 
 Of honest penitence for guilty wish 
 
 Scarce urged than hated. Then, in thought, he saw 
 
 The glad surprise o'erspread her angel face, 
 
 He at her feet remorseful in his ears 
 
 The music of her weeping, on his lips 
 
 Her kisses, firstfruits of forgiveness, seals 
 
 Of fresh-pledged love, more lasting from its jar. 
 
 Now rode he sullen, careless. On his breast 
 His head was drooped, or lift with fevered eyes 
 Up to the stars, that now, the storm o'erpast, 
 Shone out the purple gloom, as ills of earth 
 Were things too small to touch them in their course 
 Or quench one spark of glory. In his heart 
 Was bitter wrath against all things, but most 
 'Gainst him that Godlike 'gat him, but to mar 
 The life he bade to being. So the lad, 
 The night half spent, rode homeward. 
 
i go Rahere. 
 
 Sighing deep, 
 
 He passed the lonely graveyard. ' Ah, my sweet ! 
 'Tis then no grand-dam fable, old wives' tale ! 
 For thee the corpse-light burned, hell-kindled flame ; 
 Would now for me, accursed spark of ill, 
 Thou didst like office. Ah, Rahere ! Rahere ! 
 Curse on ye stars ! that now so bragly shine, 
 My darling dead ! Could ye no influence bring, 
 Beneficent, to quell the gath'ring storm, 
 Or quench the death-winged dart that 'voiding shapes 
 Unclean, could only slay sweet innocence? 
 Out ! out ! upon the governance that gives 
 Loose rein to powers of evil, forces, laws, 
 That smite the pure and beautiful evade 
 Ignoble souls and vile. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 ' How didst thou glide, 
 Dear love, across my life's dull firmament, 
 A moment gladd'ning all my way with light 
 My way henceforth hedged every side with gloom, 
 The deeper thousandfold for glimpse of joy ! 
 Dead ! and I live ! Ah, might I but behold 
 Thee once again, my darling ! clasp thee kiss 
 Thy virgin lips, and clasping, kissing, die ! 
 Ah, God, the bliss ! 
 
 And dost thou mourn her too,' 
 He sighed some while thereafter, nearing home, 
 ' Delight, good horse, thou whinniest so? No more-- 
 Ah me ! her hand shall smooth thy glossy neck ; 
 Herself, sweet burthen, press thy willing back ; 
 Her voice alas its music should be stilled ! 
 
Rahere. 191 
 
 Fill full thine ears with gladness, as mine eyes 
 To overflow of tears for very thought. 
 Would also I were dead ! Unhappy me ! 
 That still must live, curse-burdened evermore 
 With fardel of remembrance, healing Time 
 May never lift from off my bleeding heart ! 
 Rahere, sweet spirit ! canst not harbinger 
 My soul to thine, so I be guiltless still 
 Of life-breach self-inflict of misery ?' 
 
 Thus he, dejected, made complaint to star, 
 And breeze, and tree, and shadowy shapes of night ; 
 Till home returned, the steward at the porch 
 Met him with eager speech : ' He draws to end, 
 And calls you often.' 
 
 ' Let him call !' the lad 
 
 Made answer madly. ' All my life he shaped 
 Awry, and now curse on him ! dying, leaves 
 Me legacy of irremissive loss !' 
 Amazed the old man heard : ' Nay, never curse, 
 Dear lad, a dying man, and he your sire !' 
 ' Ay, sire, but never father !' swift returned 
 The youth with bitter irony. ' He 'gat 
 Me truly, Gilbert, and thereafter naught. 
 I owe him nothing for the feat but hate.' 
 
 And going in thereafter bidden oft 
 
 Of leech, and them that stood about the bed 
 
 The lad stood angry, till his father waked 
 
 From drowse again, and one announced him nigh. 
 
 ' I cannot see you, lad,' the dying man 
 
i Q2 Roller e. 
 
 Moaned feebly; 'give me yet again your hand.' 
 
 But he refused. ' I'll give thee naught but hate,' 
 
 He said, while all, astonished, stopped their ears, 
 
 ' For all the evil done by thee to me, 
 
 My dead love, and my mother ! Her you killed 
 
 By coldness ere her prime, too gentle soul 
 
 To habitate with such flint-hearted mate ! 
 
 Not her you wedded, but her land and gold, 
 
 Which won, you dammed the current of her life 
 
 With icy barricade of chill neglect ! 
 
 The better so for me, for love must forth, 
 
 And bleeding hearts bless something ere they break. 
 
 And now and now, as this were not enough, 
 
 Your hateful lust of gold, your avarice, 
 
 Has slain the noblest, purest maid that e'er 
 
 Trod earth, to wake anew within its breast 
 
 Mem'ries of Eden ! 
 
 Vile ! I spake the words, 
 Not dreaming every accent dagger stab 
 To her pure soul, but urged thereto alone 
 Of you, by you. Great God, I, too, should weigh 
 True grasper-son, dross-hearted egotist ! 
 In scale with thee, Rahere, a miser's spoil, 
 Hell-gotten hoard !' 
 
 Sir Edward doubtless heard 
 And understood, for all within his ears, 
 Death-touched, the surge of ebbing life made dull 
 And drowsing murmur. Yet again he sighed, 
 And moved uneasy ; feebly lift his hand, 
 And prayed with spasm movement of his lips : 
 4 Forgive me; I am dying !' 
 
Rahere. 193 
 
 Faint and slow 
 
 The words came forth, so full of agony 
 The lad could not but feel within his heart 
 Some echo of the woe that gave them birth. 
 Now part relenting, felt he once again 
 Beat at the portals of his stormy soul 
 Rahere's last blessing, sad but sweet farewell : 
 ' God bless thee, Edward, darling ! I forgive !' 
 
 Now sprang his tears. His heart again grew soft, 
 
 As heavenly pity vanquished earthly hate, 
 
 And judgment thought gave sentence 'gainst himself : 
 
 ' Thou sinnedst but to find forgiveness. Now 
 
 Canst, stern, withhold it from a dying sire ?' 
 
 ' Forgive !' once more the failing man implored, 
 
 His voice but feeble whisper. O'er him now 
 
 His son bent weeping. 
 
 ' Father, I forgive !' 
 
 He said, and from his heart ; then kissed the brow, 
 Death-dewed ; then took and pressed the icy hand 
 That hardly gave back pressure. ' I forgive ! 
 Forgive me also, broken heart did birth 
 Unfilial speech ! Deliracy of grief 
 Alone did mouth upbraiding.' 
 
 Ere an hour, 
 
 Far parted, son and father each his course 
 New entered. This to prove what unknown spheres 
 Hold for the soul unfettered, what award 
 The spirit present meeds the mortal past ; 
 And this of foreset ill to fashion right, 
 And nobler play the man from sting of wrong 
 
 13 
 
IQ4 Rahere. 
 
 Endured, with healthful recollection stern 
 Of wrong projected, only not achieved 
 Through hinderance of virtue, not his own. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Beside the prior's tomb Rahere was laid, 
 
 For so her lover willed. Sir Edward now, 
 
 And rich, his wish to all about was law. 
 
 A marble slab he placed upon her grave 
 
 With only this, ' Rahere,' cut deep therein. 
 
 A monument more costly far than queen's 
 
 He had upraised, but knew the pomp had jarred 
 
 Her simple soul ; so gave instead the gold 
 
 In charity to some about the fane 
 
 That dwelt in poverty, her whilom friends. 
 
 Thereafter while he brooded, taking care 
 
 For naught, his sorrow greater day by day, 
 
 Came news : the Scots, their young king at their head, 
 
 Had marched for England ! 
 
 He was Royalist, 
 
 So why not strike a blow for Church and king ? 
 What matter all men said the enterprise 
 Was mad the time unripe disaster doomed, 
 While Cromwell, martial mystery, uplift 
 His sword, within whose shadow lurked defeat 
 Grim and resistless ? Death ! And what to him 
 Was Death but kind, all-healing leech, whose hand, 
 Life-stilling, laid its fever memories 
 To sleep, like easeful opiate conqu'ring pain. 
 
Rahere. 195 
 
 It should be so. Concealed in secret place 
 The mammon labour of his father's life, 
 He to the West would hasten, place his sword 
 At service of the king for good or ill. 
 So bade he now old Gilbert to his room, 
 And, first the old man sworn to secrecy, 
 Laid bare his loyal purpose and his plan. 
 
 ' Bide you at home,' the steward earnest urged, 
 His senile fear o'ercoming loyalty ; 
 ' These scurvy Scots, who sold the martyr king, 
 Will never rouse our English gentry up. 
 No good comes out of Scotland, only plague 
 Of hungry lordlings. Stay you then at home, 
 Sir Edward. Noll will break them, as he brake 
 Duke Hamilton in Preston's three-day fight. 
 You cast both life and fortune to the winds, 
 If now you venture. Wait, the king is young.' 
 
 Sir Edward smiled. ' Good Gilbert, wealth to me 
 
 Is valueless, my gentle consort lost. 
 
 Death has no terror ; life no charm to keep 
 
 My sword in's scabbard. I shall seek the king, 
 
 With just enough of gold to gild my youth 
 
 To manhood, in his royal highness' sight. 
 
 The rest I'll hide. Nay, never think to change 
 
 My settled purpose. I am well resolved : 
 
 What will be, will. But yet for you, old friend, 
 
 I make a due provision. Well I know 
 
 The Parliament will confiscate th' estate 
 
 And hall, with aught the prating knaves can find 
 
 To glut their greedy appetite for spoil. 
 
196 Roller e. 
 
 Your faithful service here, lifelong, will count 
 
 But little with the greasy hypocrites, 
 
 Who'll flout your gray head, gibe your honesty, 
 
 And callous bid you henceforth beg or starve. 
 
 But this will balk them. I have drawn a deed 
 
 This very day, by which for service done 
 
 My father I do give thee and thy heirs 
 
 The cottage at Cock Fosters, nigh the road, 
 
 With curtilage and all appurtenance. 
 
 This open ; for the rest a thousand pounds, 
 
 To do with as thou wilt.' 
 
 The steward here 
 
 Had interposed ; but calmly putting by 
 His words, the youth continued : 
 
 ' In the grot, 
 
 Beneath the water passage, we will hide 
 My father's ill-got gain. 'Tis well concealed 
 Already, and hard by ; but yet the hall 
 Some time may be dismantled, burnt, destroyed. 
 If so be that I come again, the gold 
 Will useful prove ; if not, then let it lie. 
 Or, better still, if that thou seest wrong 
 Adone to friend or fellow wrong that gold 
 Can salve or cure then take whate'er thou wilt ; 
 But, prithee, keep the secret to thyself. 
 My horse Delight I give to Farrier Gould, 
 In keeping and remembrance.' 
 
 Here the tears 
 
 Blinded Sir Edward's sight. He turned aside 
 His face awhile to hide his manly grief. 
 ' I am no coward, Gilbert, as thou know'st ; 
 
Rahere. 197 
 
 So mock not thou thy master's grief, nor deem 
 
 His sword in fray will latest leap its sheath 
 
 For lover sorrow. Often hast thou praised 
 
 My mother ; oft proclaimed her paragon 
 
 Of gentleness and virtue ; said beside 
 
 While I did love thee for such honest word 
 
 Hadst given thy life for hers, had reaper Death 
 
 But swerved his equal sickle at thy wish ; 
 
 Such had I brought again, as fair, as sweet, 
 
 To bless all hearts and eyes with loveliness. 
 
 No more, no more of her, or I shall weep 
 
 Mine eyes so dull, some Roundhead blade will reach 
 
 My heart or e'er I shall perceive 'tis drawn.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 At night, all else asleep, Sir Edward bore 
 With aid of Gilbert, murmuring still regret 
 Gold, jewels, deeds, in secret to the grot 
 That overlooked the lake. A hidden way 
 Ran thither from the hall, and underneath 
 A niche for lamp they made a privy place, 
 And hid the golden hoard. 
 
 ' Lie there, thou dross ! 
 
 Whose love doth curse poor earth with larger ill 
 Than all hell's malice. Thou canst closer cramp 
 Man's soul than all the hundred ills of life ; 
 Canst blind his eyes ; let love engender hate 
 'Twixt parents, children ; mothers panders make 
 Of their own daughters ; good men change to churls, 
 Foul alchemist ! that heaven itself to hell 
 Would turn, once thither. Lie thou here, accurst, 
 Till godly use shall exorcise the ban 
 Of guilt upon thee !' 
 
Rahere. 
 
 Thus the youth, his foot 
 Set on the gold, contemptuous, ere he threw 
 The ready earth upon it piteous earth, 
 That hides so long she may the glittering dust, 
 Whose glamour, like to wisp-fire of the night, 
 Leads all her sons astray to loathsome depths 
 Of murk and mire. 
 
 ' Art sure thou hast enough, 
 Old friend ? If not, take what thou wilt at will, 
 Nor after spare for others, be there need.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 Next day Sir Edward rode again to town. 
 ' Ah, gate ! to stand so firm, immovable, 
 Mocking at storm and tempest ; careless all 
 Who treads thy time-worn chambers, knight or cit, 
 And she that made thee lovely gone for aye ! 
 Ah, lattice ! that for me shall nevermore 
 Unfold, to yield me glimpse of Paradise ! 
 Away, good horse, away ! Away, Delight, 
 Ere thought unman me !' 
 
 So Sir Edward sighed, 
 
 And, quickening pace, drew up at Farrier Gould's. 
 Few words of greeting passed, but kindly grasp 
 Of hand, long held, spake much. Then Gould, his guest 
 Flung careless on a settle, spake him low : 
 ' Your bidding's done, Sir Edward. For the child 
 They take your gift, and send you thanks ; but yet 
 Too great they deem your bounty for her state. 
 Cecile herself will nothing know awhile. 
 Sometime and hence they'll gently break the news, 
 And let her weep an hour upon the grave. 
 
Rahere. 199 
 
 Grief ever comes apace, and aye too soon ; 
 Tis sin to swell life's stream of bitterness 
 With rill of childhood tears.' 
 
 ' Ay, let her think 
 
 So long she may, her sister lives. Would I 
 Could dream such dream, nor know awakening ! Gould, 
 For your good service, thanks. Now here's Delight ; 
 You'll keep our pact ? No rider but yourself, 
 With easy task so long the brute shall live 
 Your own, the worst befallen me in field ! 
 The worst ! Ah, no, sure medicine for ill ! 
 
 ' Once more I'll go and look upon the stone, 
 
 The flinty cell that prisons evermore 
 
 Earth's fairest flower, heav'n-plucked, whose look of love 
 
 Burns in my soul, and aye must thrill and burn ; 
 
 Then home, and so to Oxford and the war. 
 
 Farewell, your hand ; and yet again farewell !' 
 
 PART II. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHERE Teme, in haste to join Sabrina's wave 
 His sister stream laves Broadmore's fertile field, 
 The Scotchmen's army waited morn and him, 
 Lord of all England, not by accident 
 Of birth, but right of royal attribute, 
 Pre-eminence in policy and war. 
 
 Outnumbered and out-generalled, the troops 
 Their one and only argument despair 
 
2OO Rahere. 
 
 Lay in their tents impatient, knowing well 
 The end had come, when Cromwell Ironside, 
 Swift on their track, came out the conquered North. 
 Repelled of all the land, hemmed in, at bay, 
 None thought of flight, but only of the fray, 
 Content to die, might each but slay his man, 
 And, fallen, sleep befitting warrior sleep, 
 Head pillowed proud on prostrate foeman's breast ! 
 
 Thus lay they in the field. Some sleeping, calm, 
 As Death would not at breaking of the day 
 Exultant stride the plain ; his lethal darts 
 Belch from a hundred brazen throats, whose roar 
 Bade the earth quake, and heav'n distressful hear ; 
 Would not in flash of sword or gleam of spear 
 Bid back to sleep of nothingness the host 
 But newly waked at morn from dream of home, 
 Wife, mother, children. 
 
 Others, watchful, waked, 
 And prayed the God of battles. Some, again, 
 Made merry careless, reckless souls, whose lands, 
 Whose gold, whose all, free given, had long been lost 
 In royal cause ; yet, loyal still, their lives, 
 Devotion's last and noblest gift, could now 
 Lay down, and smile the while their doom drew on. 
 
 These last Sir Edward Hewett comraded, 
 
 But not of choice, though never thought of prayer 
 
 Woke in his soul, morose of misery ! 
 
 Through difficulties manifold, at length 
 
 The city reached where lay the royal troops, 
 
 The youth had been conducted to the king, 
 
Rahere. 201 
 
 Who gave him courteous greeting, praising much 
 The loyalty that brought him to his side. 
 Thereafter, named for service with a troop 
 Of hot-blood Cavaliers, the click of dice, 
 And chink of gold, oft changing ownership, 
 With noisy oaths amany, filled his ears, 
 With ribaldry that woke disgust, and oft 
 Drave him without the tent's lascivious fold. 
 
 To-night the mirth was purer, sense of all 
 The morn would bring disaster, death, or flight 
 Dishonourable, did not the Lord of war, 
 Against all hope, work miracle somewhat 
 Restraining grossness. Nigh the entrance sat 
 Sir Edward, so the soft September air, 
 Made fragrant of the orchard's ripening fruit, 
 Might fresh his brow and drive away the reek 
 Of Spanish weed, slow-burning, and the breath 
 Of spirit-waters lavish poured and shared. 
 
 Now rose a clamour : ' Sing, Sir Gervase, sing ! 
 
 Who knows how soon some Roundhead blade shall slit 
 
 Thy throat, and still for aye mellifluous song ! 
 
 Nay, sing what wilt, man, so it be a song, 
 
 The better with a burthen, so it help 
 
 To drive away this damned despondency, 
 
 That dulls alike the edge of wit and sword !' 
 
 Then sang one, scornful miming nasal twang 
 
 Of Puritan opponent ; oft his eyes 
 
 Turned pious upward, while the rest beat time 
 
 With heel or cup, and made the canvas shake 
 
 With chorus ringing far along the field. 
 
2O2 Rahere. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Out in the fens where the cropheads abide 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Satan one day in a passion outcried 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 ' This England's so godly, but few can I damn ; 
 I'll spawn me an imp from some lecherous dam, 
 So much like a saint none shall know him for sham !' 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew, 
 
 Fiend-taught impostors, malignant and fell ! 
 Long time the land shall thy devilry rue ; 
 Down, demon, down, to thy father in hell ! 
 
 So Satan betook him to Huntingdon town 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 
 In garb of a leader he went up and down 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 
 A brewer's wife saw him ; ' Come in, sir, I pray ; 
 
 I need ghostly comfort ; my goodman's away.' 
 
 He went, and what came on't, there needs not to say ! 
 Down, Nolly, down, etc. 
 
 Thus gotten, young Nolly, 'gan erelong to bawl 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Would snuggle and snuffle in cottage and hall 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 The whites of his eyes he'd turn up in a trice, 
 Did maid but anear him ; yet had she her price, 
 Young Nolly would pounce her like cat upon mice. 
 Down, Nolly, down, etc. 
 
Roller e. 203 
 
 So clever was Nolly, that Lord of the Fen 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 The cuckolds now called him ; how chuckled he then ! 
 
 Down. Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Next sent him to London, he did them so brown, 
 Their Parliament member for Cambridge old town, 
 This devil-got student in trencher and gown ! 
 Down, Nolly, down, etc. 
 
 Who now like our Nolly, so fierce and so stout ? 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Our fen-dog so burly with rubicund snout 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 At Church and at monarch he'd bark day and night, 
 His tongue tipped with venom, his heart full of spite, 
 Till he set all the city and kingdom alight ! 
 Down, Nolly, down, etc. 
 
 Then laid he his paw upon patten and plate 
 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Turned churches to stables, hell-cub designate 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 Yet kept of his father from bullet and blade 
 In skirmish and battle, his fiend part he played 
 Till the martyr lay murdered, by Scots- men betrayed. 
 Down, Nolly, down, etc. 
 
 Yet dies the king never ! Drink, drink to the king ! 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 
 The Lord's own anointed, his praises we'll sing 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew ! 
 
204 Rahere. 
 
 But whisper his name, and each sword from its sheath 
 Leaps greedy of vengeance. So long we have breath 
 We'll serve him, nor render but only to Death. 
 Down, Nolly, down, with thy pestilent crew, 
 
 Fiend-taught impostors, malignant and fell ! 
 Long time the land must thy devilry rue ; 
 Down, demon, down, to thy father in hell ! 
 
 So shouted they with often oath and threat 
 Of vengeance, did but Heav'n befriend the right 
 In coming conflict. After, drank the health 
 Of wife or mistress, or court fair renowned 
 For beauty, grace, or winning innocence. 
 Then he that sang bade other sing a lad 
 Of noble face, broad brow, and fearless eye 
 Where valour shone, with honour ingenite. 
 Yea, such an one as gentler times and calm 
 Had surely lift to height of eminence 
 'Mongst men pre-eminent for worth and wit ; 
 He now, but yet as part reluctant, sang : 
 
 Chloe, fairest maid that e'er 
 Lover moved to lover prayer, 
 
 Yet all suit denying, 
 Set within her sylvan nook, 
 Weeps beside the prattler brook, 
 
 Careless onward hieing. 
 
 Chloe weeps for England's stain, 
 Weeps the royal martyr slain, 
 
 In his blood-shroud sleeping. 
 ' Chloe, weep no more !' I cried, 
 When the maid I thus espied 
 
 By the riv'let weeping. 
 
Rahere. 205 
 
 ' Or if yet those tears must flow, 
 Pearl-drops worth a kingdom's woe, 
 
 Let them fall for lover ! 
 Death ne'er yields his spoil again ; 
 Chloe, pity lover pain, 
 
 Some relief discover.' 
 
 Chloe then disdainful rose, 
 Lovelier still in anger shows, 
 
 Cheeks indignant glowing. 
 ' Sir, your king and mine doth live ; 
 Go where honour bids, and give 
 
 Suit where suit is owing ! 
 
 ' Go ! the king doth call for aid ; 
 Were I man, nor feeble maid, 
 
 I had lingered never ! 
 Go ! and strike for king and land ; 
 Then perhaps may Chloe's hand 
 
 Comrade thine for ever !' 
 
 ' Chloe,' then I cried, ' I go ! 
 Sweet, wilt not a kiss bestow, 
 
 Lover-troth and token ? 
 Chloe, but and if for me 
 Soldier-fate and grave should be ?' 
 
 Scarce the words were spoken, 
 
 Ere, upon my bosom cast, 
 Chloe weeping clasped me fast, 
 
 Tend'rest love confessing ; 
 ' Then I'll mourn thee night and day, 
 Virgin-bride of heav'n alway, 
 
 Death life's ill redressing !' 
 
206 Rahere. 
 
 1 Well sung, Carew ! Your health, lad ! Chloe's, too ! 
 An you but wield your blade with half the skill 
 You trolled your ditty ' Tush ! the song is naught,' 
 One peevish interjected ' finicking 
 From first to last. But here's your health, Carew, 
 And here's a lay will better stir our phlegm :' 
 
 But for three things Life were naught, 
 
 Wear'some toil and trouble, 
 Fever-dream, illusion fraught, 
 
 Glister, glozer, bubble 
 So the sages all declare. 
 
 Whist, then, priest and preacher ! 
 Gentles, wisdom would you share, 
 
 Hearken comrade-teacher ! 
 
 Fill your tankards fill, sirs, fill ! 
 
 Each one, dull or witty ; 
 Drink me now with heart and will, 
 
 Woman, wine, and ditty. 
 These the three, and naught but these ; 
 
 Come ! who dare gainsay it ? 
 Monk and priest, your prating cease ; 
 
 'Tis the truth I say it ! 
 Chorus. Up, then, up ! Drink, comrades, drink ! 
 
 Scorned be he, nor pity 
 Find, who now or e'er shall shrink 
 From woman, wine, and ditty ! 
 
 Woman first ! Down, down the wine ! 
 
 Forfeit him that misses ! 
 She that sets her lips to mine 
 
 Gives for kisses kisses ! 
 
Rahere. 207 
 
 She whose smile, like summer beam, 
 
 Floods to untold gladness ; 
 She whose beauty, Eden dream, 
 
 Wakes with lover madness ! 
 Chorus. Up, then, up ! etc. 
 
 After woman, wine. Up, up ! 
 
 Drink the God-gift golden ! 
 Toss the tankard, drain the cup, 
 
 Mortals so beholden ! 
 Drink the gift that drowneth care, 
 
 Chaseth dull-eyed Sorrow, 
 Sparkling fires the soul to bear 
 
 Nightmare Mis'ry's morrow. 
 Chorus. Up, then, up ! etc. 
 
 Music next, that lifteth man 
 
 High as Zeus' portals, 
 Claiming there, ecstatic span, 
 
 Kinship with immortals ! 
 Drink the strain each rolling sphere 
 
 Raises, blaze-surrounded 
 Strain that e'en angelic ear, 
 
 Hearing, hears astounded ! 
 Chorus. Up, then, up ! Drink, comrades, drink ! 
 
 Scorned be he, nor pity 
 Find, who now or e'er shall shrink 
 From woman, wine, and ditty ! 
 
 Song followed song, the while the gleamy wine, 
 Poured forth with unstint hand, went gaily round ; 
 What need to spare, the Dawn, Day's henchman, near, 
 With moveless Fate, high-priest of callous Death, 
 
208 Rahere. 
 
 Already waiting nigh, libation foul 
 
 Eager to pour at feet of bloody Mars ! 
 
 The wine went round. All now in turn had sung 
 
 As whim or call exacted. All but one, 
 
 Sir Edward ; he had constant made excuse, 
 
 Content to pay the forfeit noisy claimed. 
 
 But now of drink inflamed to insolence, 
 
 One rudely bade him sing, with ribald quip 
 
 Retorting, when he made again excuse. 
 
 An insult 'twas that few beside had borne, 
 And anger hotly flamed the mournful youth, 
 And all the more his grief inclined to wrath ; 
 But yet, his worthier impulsings obeyed, 
 Restraining rage, he rose and left the tent. 
 Then followed mocking laughter, with a word 
 No soldier dare forgive. 
 
 ' No coward I, 
 
 Wine-heated fool !' he fierce rejoined, and strode 
 Back to the tent, and faced his challenger. 
 ' When out thy cups I'll meet thee where thou wilt ; 
 But now 'twere shame to stain good honest sword 
 With fever-blood of sot.' So said he, then 
 Smote with his glove his taunter in the face. 
 ' So that for gage he's friend will friend thee now,' 
 He added, all his anger bursting forth 
 And whelming prudence. 
 
 Blind with vinous wrath, 
 The Cavalier sprang up, and, drawing sword, 
 Made at Sir Edward. Easily the youth 
 Repelled the staggering foe, and hurled him back, 
 Till stumbling o'er a bench he fell and lay. 
 
Rahere. 209 
 
 Then one snatched up the glove : ' His lordship's friend 
 
 Am I, Sir Edward Hewett. As you say, 
 
 He cannot now maintain impartial fight, 
 
 So will I for him. Draw you, sir, and quick !' 
 
 Now drew Sir Edward back. His anger turned 
 Against himself for hasty witless speech, 
 He had eschewed the combat ; not of fear, 
 But doubting much the justice of the fray. 
 So urged he modest : ' Sir, I spake in haste, 
 And pardon crave for lack of deference. 
 I have no quarrel save with him whose taunt 
 Must yet be answered and at rapier-point ! 
 For us, the king doth need our every blade ; 
 Why fling away a life, nor one to spare ?' 
 
 Too deeply had they drunk to give him heed, 
 
 But rather held him fouter, coward ; bade 
 
 Him prove his challenge, or depart the tent. 
 
 So space was made, and soon the quivering steel 
 
 Sang song of conflict, strident strain that filled 
 
 The list'ners' ears with thrill of fearful joy. 
 
 The combatants were equal matched for skill, 
 
 But yet Sir Edward had advantage, since 
 
 No fever-fire of wine or vengeful rage 
 
 Flowed in his veins, or treach'rous whirled his brain. 
 
 The bright blades flashed ! How strange a thing is man ! 
 
 A little while agone and on his lips 
 
 Was fierce impeachment of supernal will, 
 
 With often wish for death life worthless all, 
 
 As so to him it seemed, his mistress dead. 
 
 14 
 
2io Rahere. 
 
 And now for life he waged indomite fight, 
 
 Eye, hand, and brain alike at stretch to guard 
 
 The God-giv'n spark, of late so small esteemed. 
 
 Such was the thought that, flashing into mind, 
 
 E'en as he warded thrust of agile foe, 
 
 Brought scornful laugh to Edward Hewett's lip. 
 
 Enraged to fury at the fancied scorn, 
 
 The challenger pressed on. Again the blades 
 
 Rasped vengeful ; then, from out th' assailant's hand, 
 
 The rapier flew and left him undefenced. 
 
 He, full of shame, had yet renewed the fight, 
 Spared of his conqueror ; but the lad Carew 
 With vehemence opposed : ' 'Twas fairly fought 
 And fairly won. Sir Edward Hewett comes 
 Across all England through a world of foes 
 To serve the king ! But sorry welcome this, 
 And scurvy guerdon for his loyalty ! 
 Shame on us all, I say ! Who next shall draw 
 On him, draws on me also George Carew.' 
 
 The brawl had doubtless spread ; too young the lad 
 
 To influence older, wilder, ruder men, 
 
 Had not a shot now boomed along the plain 
 
 From out the sheltering Severn's mist-clad hills, 
 
 With answer soon from Teme's contiguous shore. 
 
 So ceased the clamour, lesser strife forgot 
 
 In imminence of conflict vast, whose throes 
 
 Should shake all England, and its issue bind. 
 
 ' There goes old Noll's reveil Fleetwood's reply,' 
 
 One said low-toned. ' Enough of fighting now 
 
 We'll have erelong. The Cropheads wake them soon, 
 
Rahere. 211 
 
 As battle were but pastime, and the day 
 
 Too short for 'joyment. 'Sdeath ! they're all astir.' 
 
 The tents forsook, in groups about the field, 
 Already touched of Dawn's gray-shafted beams, 
 The soldiery gathered. 'Gainst a wattle wall 
 Sir Edward leaned apart from all, as so 
 He deemed, his thoughts afar from camp and field. 
 ' My love ! my own ! the end is nigh !' he sighed. 
 ' Rahere, dear heart, where'er thou dwellest now, 
 Make lodgment for thy lover. Life is death 
 Without thee, darling death but only life ! 
 Break, Dawn, apace ! ye shapeful mists, away ! 
 So hopeless we may yet our fate descry, 
 And die, death grappling.' 
 
 So he murmured low. 
 
 Then came a voice, but gently : ' Sir, forgive, 
 If that I come unwelcome and disturb 
 Heart-easing thought.' Sir Edward hasty turned. 
 The lad that late had championed his cause 
 Stood graceful by him. He for sole reply 
 Stretched out his own and grasped the other's hand, 
 But after spake him warmly : 
 
 * I am much 
 
 Your debtor, and for courtesy forgot 
 Of all our comrades.' 
 
 ' Ay, we did you wrong,' 
 
 The boy replied, light laughing. ' True the saw, 
 " When wine is in, then wit is ever out." 
 You bare yourself full nobly. I did ill 
 To speak so late, and pardon crave therefor. 
 
212 Rahere. 
 
 What think you of our hap ; is't desperate, 
 As most do say, or have you comelier hope ?' 
 
 Sir Edward smiled. ' I have no hope but this, 
 
 Our comrades, so courageous facing friend, 
 
 Will prove so valorous towards sturdy foe 
 
 That naught shall stand before them. For the rest, 
 
 The country all about us is in arms. 
 
 But that I saw it, wondering, for myself, 
 
 I had not thought, nor aye believed, the land 
 
 So firm resolved to stand against the king. 
 
 How 'tis were hard to fathom ; but the heart 
 
 Of England beats to-day for Parliament, 
 
 And Parliament in Cromwell. This the speech 
 
 I heard in hostel, where I lay the night 
 
 Before I reached the city : 
 
 " King of Scots," 
 
 One said in scorn, " and crowned in Edinbro' ! 
 Chief Judas then, arch-traitor to the dead ! 
 So let him reign in Scotland an he may !" 
 
 1 So all agreed, while yet another cried : 
 " Beside, 'tis said he signed the Covenant ; 
 How must his sire have turned him in his grave ! 
 I lift no hand for renegade, to bring 
 Scotch locusts like a murrain on the land." 
 Then hummed they all applause. 
 
 ' No hope ! The land, 
 Part dazzled by the star of victory, 
 That baleful sits on Cromwell's rugged brow, 
 Part stilled by weariness of strife, dislike 
 Of aught that's Scottish, lies supine or moves 
 
Rahere. 213 
 
 Complacent thrall to pike-hedged Parliament. 
 What boots, then, this our force of aliens, set 
 Against a kingdom martial and in arms ? 
 I know the thought thou wilt reject with scorn, 
 Nor hold him friend whose lips shall counsel flight ; 
 But yet, Sir George, if thou wouldst see again 
 
 Thy Chloe ' 
 
 Here the lad impatient hand 
 Laid on the speaker's arm. ' How know you that 
 I sang of self? Your other speech is naught, 
 Else had Sir Edward Hewett never come 
 Through ever-present danger to his king.' 
 
 ' Thy soul was in the song,' the knight replied, 
 ' And, as I think, did pen it. Lover ears 
 Are sharper than of common. I am here, 
 In truth, the more for love of buried maid 
 Than sake of king unproved, untried, or fate 
 Of country, self-subdued, content to lie 
 Gyved at the foot of rustic conqueror.' 
 
 'Why, so with me,' Sir George returned. 'Alas ! 
 Our house is much divided ; some for king, 
 Some Parliament. Till Edith spake me so, 
 I troubled not for either. Since we stand 
 Thus equal moved and circumstanced, let's make 
 True compact. He that 'scapes the battle doom 
 Shall bear fond message to his comrade's fair.' 
 Sir Edward laughed. ' Small hope of that, but yet 
 I promise. Give me then your lady's name.' 
 This did the lad with token, and a word 
 Or two of love, rough pencilled in the dawn, 
 
214 Rahere. 
 
 And sealed with tears not unobserved by him 
 That took and laid the trifle safely by. 
 ' Now you, Sir Edward.' 
 
 Then he solemnly : 
 
 ' Thy sins, Sir George, can be but few ; too young 
 And fresh thy soul from Maker's hand for sin 
 To soil and mar to utter jeopardy, 
 So Death to thee may be but claviger 
 To Paradise. If I, less fortunate, 
 Should fail to-day to know Life's turmoil done, 
 But, earth-curst, still must linger like to him 
 The undying wretch that day by day must drag 
 His penance-weighted being up and down 
 Unsympathetic earth, Death longing, while 
 Ever the farther Death doth fly for prayer 
 Then thou, so soon amid ecstatic throng 
 Thou seest one beyond conception fair, 
 Where all are beautiful, then wilt thou know 
 My soul's earth-ravished saint, heav'n-stol'n Rahere ! 
 Then tell her this : her lover's heart did break 
 Of penitence what time impatient heav'n 
 Her short-lent prodigy bid back again 
 Too pure, too fair, the maid for aught but clasp 
 Of kindred spirits, stainless, passionless ! 
 Tell her a thousand kisses I did set 
 Upon her lips, death-cold, that yet no chill 
 Gave to my frenzied soul's self-torturing fire. 
 Say how, with myriad blistering tears, her shroud 
 The snow-white bride-gown of her peerless form 
 I dewed, till careful grand-dames cried me shame ! 
 Ah me ! the cold, cold hand that lay in mine, 
 
Rahere. 215 
 
 All careless of caressing ! God ! the smile 
 Sweet lingering on her lips, but not for me ! 
 
 Her wondrous look ' 
 
 Abruptly ceased the knight, 
 Strode forth a little way, then quick rejoined 
 His wondering comrade. Spake him slow again : 
 ' Sir George, my heart is charnelled with the dead 
 Life evermore a burden ! Judge you, then, 
 How small the chance I prove Love's messenger 
 To any but my own lost paragon ! 
 Best seek another likelier far to live.' 
 
 Then answer made the lad with sparkling eye : 
 
 ' Nay, nay ; I leave the matter where it is. 
 
 No messenger for Love like sorrowing love. 
 
 A hundred times I'll chance the rather you, 
 
 Than any of our comrades, telling tale 
 
 Of loss, with hunger-wakened eyes the while 
 
 Feasting on beauty doubly beautiful 
 
 For added charm of cheek-impearling tear. 
 
 But yet for me, forgive me, artless foe 
 
 To Time's all-healing leechcraft, I did probe 
 
 A wound so deep and cruel as your own 
 
 To throb and throe of fresh-awakened pain.' 
 
 II. 
 
 Now brake the day of doom ! Yet sometime hung 
 The brooding mist o'er all the fateful plain, 
 Distressful Nature loath to lift the screen 
 That yet a little while her matron breast 
 Benignant kept from stain of offspring blood. 
 
216 Rahere. 
 
 Now waxed the sun impatient, careless he 
 Whate'er Earth's children of their pigmy pride 
 Wrought to their hindrance, so his healthful beam, 
 Escaped anew the gloom of night-throned deep, 
 Diffused its softening gladness every side. 
 Anon the wind, peace- wearied, here and there 
 Smote at the vap'rous canopy, that now, 
 Slow-moving, 'gan dispart, when swift the sun 
 His golden sheen drove wedgeway all between 
 The tearful, trembling cloud till all was gone. 
 
 Meanwhile the foe, beneath the friendly haze 
 Concealed, his task pursued without annoy ; 
 And now, his floating causey consummate, 
 O'er Teme and Severn poured his stern array. 
 Silent they came, as scornful of the Scot, 
 Nor needing cheer of comrade shout, nor aught 
 Of 'couragement beyond the warrior fire 
 That burned in each, with confidence in him 
 Who led them, first to print the hither shore 
 With hostile foot contemptuous. 
 
 On they came, 
 
 A mighty host resistless as the sea 
 That, man's frail rampire stormed, fierce chafing leaps 
 With arched and spumy mane upon the land. 
 
 Nor lay the Scotsmen still. Himself secure 
 From all the fateful chances of the fray, 
 The Stuart, off the minster tow'r, beheld 
 His foes advance, led of his chiefest foe, 
 And gave command to check their onward way. 
 
Rahere. 217 
 
 Now angry spake the iron mouths of war, 
 With thunderous roar that rent their canopy 
 Of wreathing smoke illumed of leaping flame ; 
 Yet came they on he at their head, who scorned 
 Less danger than the least of all the host 
 His willing war-mates. Onward came they still, 
 For all the hurtling hail, unmoved, unchecked ; 
 Not silent now, for out a thousand throats, 
 Drowning war's discord and the deafening tramp 
 Of marching myriads, rang the battle-cry, 
 ' The Lord of Hosts !' as when the Dunbar hills 
 Shrank at the shout, far borne along the main, 
 That, startled, stilled his billowy turbulence, 
 Amazed at tumult vaster than his own. 
 
 Now led by troop of dare-all Cavaliers, 
 The Scotsmen boldly braved the iron flood 
 Of pike and sword and gaping arquebus. 
 'Twas all in vain ; the steely tide swept on, 
 For all the conflict shock of 'countering wave. 
 In vain, now here, now there, despairing might 
 A little while would stem the fell advance, 
 The battle surge rolled, noisy, ever on, 
 O'er bleeding wrecks of manhood, gasping sore 
 For life beneath the trampling foot of friend 
 Or foe alike unheedful. 
 
 On they came, 
 
 With ever at their head him, Ironside, 
 His sad, keen eyes observant every way 
 Of each and all of him that doughty bore 
 Himself as hero, or that blenched the fight. 
 
2i8 Rahere. 
 
 Composed and calm, yet ne'er impassive, rode 
 Awakened England's chief of men ; full oft 
 A word of cheer upon his lips for them 
 That needed ofter, praise for warrior deed 
 Well done with ever in reserve the flame 
 Of scathing anger, swift as summer flash, 
 Did any thwart, neglect, or disobey. 
 
 A hillock, sharp contested, now was won, 
 
 And now the Scots, disheartened, gave amain. 
 
 Upon the knoll-top Cromwell, halting, saw 
 
 Where, in the broken fight, two Cavaliers 
 
 Fought fiercely, so a rally might be made. 
 
 Then lit his steely eyes with kindred fire : 
 
 ' Who are the lads ?' he asked of him that rode 
 
 Beside him, post at need and adjutant. 
 
 ' The nearer is but boy, dame's parlour yet 
 
 Befitting more his years than battle-field ! 
 
 They should be brothers see, the elder guards 
 
 The younger ! Ha, well warded ! Saw you that? 
 
 Go, give the striplings quarter ! Pity 'twere 
 
 To nip such manhood promise in the bud !' 
 
 But now, fresh rallied, stood the Scots again. 
 
 Again the turmoil heightened, and the fate 
 
 Of these forgotten in the larger need, 
 
 Cromwell anew moved on unconquerable. 
 
 Yet fought they stubborn till the word ran round, 
 
 ' Retire ! retire ! all's o'er at Powick Bridge ! 
 
 Retire ! or else they take us in the rear !' 
 
 So did they, sorely harassed in retreat, 
 
 And saved alone from rout by friendly hedge, 
 
Rahere. 219 
 
 And wooded lane, and orchard garth that brake 
 The ranks of charging horsemen, and forbade 
 1 )estruction to the death of gallant foe. 
 
 Meanwhile the Teme at Powick larger ran, 
 
 Fed, ghastly, from a thousand rills of life ! 
 
 Strown with the dead, like wrack on storm-beat shore, 
 
 His trampled banks lay horrid. All the noon 
 
 Keith and Montgomery here with Fleetwood strove, 
 
 Until his chief, his strategy complete, 
 
 Threw troops o'er Teme to help his warlike son ; 
 
 Then, beaten, fled they, till the city walls 
 
 Received them, and its flinty barrier set 
 
 Awhile betwixt the victor and his prey. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 'Twas hour for prayer, yet few within the fane 
 Were gathered. These the boom of nearing war 
 Heard in their ears, with blare of trumpet-call 
 And tramp of hurrying squadrons. Past the pile 
 Fair Severn seaward lapped her gelid stream, 
 Fresh from the Cymry hills, all careless she, 
 So long her mountain tribute she might bear 
 To ocean undisturbed, whate'er befell 
 The frenzied host that thronged her fertile shores. 
 
 Within went trembling up the prayer for peace, 
 And light in darkness ; then, above the din 
 Each moment more tumultuous little while 
 Rose mighty harmonies, that, rolling, filled 
 The fane magnifical, befitting Him 
 Of whom, to whom, the glorious descant rang : 
 
22O Rahere. 
 
 The Lord descended from above, 
 
 And bowed the heavens most high, 
 And underneath His feet He cast 
 
 The darkness of the sky. 
 On cherubs and on cherubim, 
 
 Full royally He rode, 
 And on the wings of mighty winds 
 
 Came flying all abroad. 
 
 So soared the anthem up. Then followed prayer 
 For him, shamed England's after-bane, who now 
 Stood at the minster threshold, bidding back 
 His beaten host to shelter of the walls 
 Of loyal Worcester, faithful to her fall ! 
 
 There sheltered safe, they courage took of shame 
 
 And anger at defeat, and loudly cheered 
 
 A sally planned against the victor's camp, 
 
 His forces still the most part o'er the stream. 
 
 Now woke again the Severn hills in wrath, 
 
 Man's thunder dull re-echoing far and near. 
 
 Fierce charged, the Roundheads' threefold ring of steel 
 
 Erelong gave way. Sometime disorder reigned, 
 
 While hope 'gan flicker in the Stuart breast. 
 
 Fell was the fight and bloody. Neither side 
 
 Or pity showed or sought ; each combatant, 
 
 His soul aflame with rage and battle-lust, 
 
 Fought as of old his berserk fathers fought, 
 
 Nor knew of wound or hurt till stealing Death 
 
 Tugged sudden at his heartstrings and he fell. 
 
 'Twas push of pike 'gainst pike, 'twas sword to sword, 
 
 With ever in their clang'rous greeting, death ; 
 
Rahere. 221 
 
 Or flash of petronel in face of foe, 
 
 Whom Death alone bade bar no more the way. 
 
 Thus for a time did traitorous Fortune smile 
 
 On sturdy Scot and charging Cavalier. 
 
 Back driven, the Roundheads scowling fell, no man 
 
 But with his face toward his enemy. 
 
 Yet still they gave, outnumbered trodden down 
 
 By squadrons charging like to hurricane, 
 
 Hill born, that furious cleaves its havoc way 
 
 Through shrieking woodlands swept from out its path ! 
 
 ' Again, brave hearts ! again, and all is won !' 
 So cried the royal leader, and a shout 
 Went up and bade the wood-topt hills resound 
 Untimely note of triumph. On they dashed 
 Impetuous, fearless, noble souls that waged 
 Ignoble war, for princely churl, against 
 Their truer nature and their country's weal. 
 
 But hark, o'er all the thunder of their charge, 
 The shout of new-come warriors, horse and foot ! 
 See him at head whose star did never pale 
 In fight, whose presence gives a hundred heart 
 To shock a thousand. As at morn, the word 
 Breaks from his lips, ' The Lord of Hosts !' and all 
 His thousands shout it, till the mighty roar 
 Knocks at the clouds and bids the welkin hear. 
 
 Now, royal Stuart, hurl thy gallant might 
 
 'Gainst his, the might of God-giv'n majesty ! 
 
 Hurl ! hurl ! to break like ocean tempest-flung 
 
 'Gainst earth, rock-guarded ! Hurl ! and shivering turn 
 
 To wuthering spray, wind-whipt, wind-tost, and spurned ! 
 
222 Rahere. 
 
 They come ! they dash ! they fall like avalanche ! 
 
 As thunder loud the crash, the shock, the shout ! 
 
 Death grappling now, they strike, they thrust, or e'en, 
 
 Too close for armed conflict, clutch at throat, 
 
 Or wrist, or belt, with tiger hand and fell ! 
 
 So thus awhile, till slow at trumpet-call 
 
 The charging mass recoils a breathing space ; 
 
 Then on again to meet severer fate : 
 
 For charged in turn by Ironside veterans, 
 
 They break, they flee to shelter of their foot, 
 
 Half of their strength death-garnered on the plain. 
 
 With these Carew ! Escaped the morning fray, 
 All day the lads had battled side by side ; 
 Had seen, themselves no niggards in the fight, 
 The royal forces thrust from post to post, 
 At Powick and St. Johns, till Fleetwood stood 
 With Lambert, waiting only courier word 
 From Cromwell to assault the doomed town. 
 
 Together still the last and fatal charge 
 They made undaunted. Foremost they of all 
 The gallant troop of English chivalry 
 That fearless dashed against the gates of Death, 
 To show the slower Scotsmen how to die. 
 So fierce his charge, Sir Edward clave his way 
 Through pike and carbine. Still with him the boy 
 Some bravely followed. Death on every side 
 They gave and took. But few were left when loud 
 The trumpet clang its coward-toned recall. 
 Then fury swelled Sir Edward's soul beyond 
 The warrior lust of slaughter and of blood. 
 
Rahere. 223 
 
 ' I go not back !' he hissed through clenched teeth ; 
 But all had turned obedient to the clang 
 Save the brave boy beside him. Seeing him, 
 More generous thought arose : ' My life is mine 
 To do with as I will ; but this brave lad ?' 
 Then turned he, too ; but as he turned, the boy 
 Gave sigh and fell across him. Through his heart 
 A ball had ploughed from musketeer anigh, 
 His caliver still smoking. 
 
 Nothing more 
 
 Sir Edward knew, for maddening rage that numbed 
 His brain and stole away intelligence. 
 But this he did : about the dying boy 
 He flung his arm and snatched him to himself; 
 Then, vengeful, smote to death the musketeer; 
 And after furious spurred his snorting horse 
 Against the circling, threatening ring of steel. 
 Thence cleaving path he gained anew the plain, 
 And so again the rallying troop, unhurt, 
 By soldier courtesy of one whose heart 
 Swelled at the deed, and generous forbade 
 His troop to fire upon him as he rode. 
 
 So rode they back together life and death : 
 Life as his wont, sore burdened with weight 
 Of Death, his twin-born terror ; sleepless Death 
 That yet doth ever boon of wakeless sleep 
 Bear for his comrade, grief-environed Life ! 
 
 Dead was the lad ! Too soon his course at end, 
 The generous boy that nevermore might lie 
 Clasped in his Chloe's proud and grateful arms ! 
 
224 Rahere. 
 
 Weep for him, maidens ! him that maiden face, 
 Tear-framed and sad of still reproach, could lure 
 From love, to carnage, sacrifice, and death ! 
 Weep for him, Chloe ! yet no tear shall wake 
 Nor sigh disturb him where he peaceful sleeps, 
 Lulled by the minster's soft and tuneful chime. 
 
 Beneath a tree his comrade laid him down, 
 And, madness past, leaned sadly o'er the boy : 
 ' So thou art sped, dear lad, and I still live, 
 To whom life is but burden ! Twice to-day 
 Thy life I kept 'gainst him that mocking flies 
 Unhappy me, though sought for eagerly. 
 
 Now clang again the trumpet. At the call, 
 Sir Edward, kneeling, kissed the pallid brow : 
 ' I go in hope to follow where thou'rt gone ; 
 If not, then bear my message to my love, 
 As I to thine unwilling.' 
 
 Mounting quick, 
 
 He joined the shouting troop, and once again 
 Dashed at the foe, slow moving o'er the plain. 
 Vain all ! for scarce at impact with the pikes 
 Were they when Cromwell charged them in his turn 
 On either flank, and brake them hopelessly. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Slow sank the sun in cloud of blood, as heav'n 
 Were wrathful, and her crimson antient set 
 For signal, high above the heads of them 
 That sought again to rivet royal chains 
 On them by her advanced to liberty. 
 
Rahere. 225 
 
 Then drew the evening shades about the field, 
 Yet still they fought, for stiffer fight was ne'er 
 Throughout the war, nor longer in suspense. 
 
 Of all the troop Sir Edward comraded, 
 
 But one was left. 'Twas he that, drunken, drew 
 
 Upon the youth, and for his pains was thrown. 
 
 He, sullen all the day, had kept aloof, 
 
 Distressed to know himself in bravery 
 
 So far behind the lad he late defamed. 
 
 Now Fortune willed they met, a lull in fight 
 
 Succeeding cruel onslaught. Coldly smiled 
 
 The knight, and, moved to keener speech than wont, 
 
 Made gibing challenge : ' Sir, but yester-eve 
 
 You bade me draw, of insolence alone ; 
 
 To-night I counter challenge. Yonder rides 
 
 Old Noll, as we do call him, hazarding 
 
 His life as he were meanest of them all 
 
 A gallant charge, and haply all the war 
 
 Were ended ; all doth hang upon his life. 
 
 I do attaint you, sir, of cowardice 
 
 Unless you instant follow where I lead !' 
 
 Then he, regretful : ' I have seen this day 
 Sir Edward Hewett do such gallant deed 
 That in my soul I feel myself abased, 
 And freely do withdraw untruthful taunt, 
 With crave of pardon. Granted that, I ride 
 Most gladly where you will. Would that we two 
 Might end our country's peril with our lives, 
 So that our deadly errand were complete !' 
 
 '5 
 
226 Rahere. 
 
 * In wine all men are fools !' The proverb old 
 The knight remembering, felt resentment go. 
 
 * Contented I ! yet follow not my lead, 
 
 If any, prayerful, watch thy coming home. 
 
 But see, it is himself that hither comes 
 
 With but a few rides up and down. What's that ? 
 
 Will give us quarter, lay we down our arms ! 
 
 'Twere best we did, for hark how Fleetwood storms 
 
 At Worcester gates ! Ay, best indeed for these 
 
 Poor Scottish sheep, led forth to butchery ! 
 
 So shot for answer ! Rugged courtesy 
 
 For proffered mercy, that ! Then 'tis the end ; 
 
 Old Noll doth ever summon thus ere falls 
 
 His doom-stroke on a brave antagonist. 
 
 There goes he back contemned ! Before again 
 
 He comes like thunderbolt, the thing I dream 
 
 Must aye be done, or left undone for aye." 
 
 His eyes to heav'n the knight a moment lift, 
 
 Then gazed around him sternly o'er the field. 
 
 A moment marking where the dead boy lay, 
 
 His stern gaze softened ; yet did never prayer 
 
 Birth in his soul, but only, on his lips 
 
 His mistress' name soft trembled ! Then he cheered 
 
 His failing horse, and singly charged the foe. 
 
 Amazed in part, part doubtful of his end, 
 The nearer foe that saw his swift approach 
 Withheld their fire, nor harmed him as he rode 
 Where Cromwell, halting, spake his force in face. 
 But soon his errand known, upon his lips 
 
Rahere. 227 
 
 Defiant challenge of their mighty chief, 
 
 A hundred sprang them forward, and a shout 
 
 Of warning thrilled the ranks from end to end/ 
 
 Then Cromwell turned, the danger saw unmoved 
 
 Unmoved heard challenge saw uplifted sword 
 
 Smiled grimly when, death-furrowed by a pike, 
 
 The shrieking steed that bore his challenger 
 
 Fell prone, and flung his rider at his feet. 
 
 ' Nay, slay him not !' he thundered forth in tone 
 
 None dared to disobey, a hundred hands 
 
 Uplift to smite the daring enemy 
 
 ' Secure him ; I will speak the lad anon !' 
 
 So did they, some reluctant, scowling hate ; 
 Some nobler, letting admiration speak 
 In look and usage. Cromwell nothing more 
 Deigned to his pris'ner, but, the end at hand, 
 Stormed at the Scot till all the sorrowing field 
 Beneath the shock of battling squadrons shook ; 
 Its sward, with life-ooze battening, and its brook 
 Bridged, loathsome, o'er with bridge of dying men, 
 Unholy causeway, bleeding, quivering, torn 
 Alike by tramp of friend and enemy, 
 And iron heel of charger, callous urged 
 To onward task of slaughter ! 
 
 Faded out 
 
 The crimson ensign of dejected day ! 
 Night fell, but still within the city walls 
 The strife went on, the shades funereal 
 Fringed oft and o'er with fiery sheen, and shook 
 With hurtling roar that woke the firmament, 
 
228 Rahere. 
 
 To mark how man could mime ethereal war 
 And curse the earth with ills a thousandfold 
 More fell than fiend against him e'er conceived. 
 
 III. 
 
 Calm after storm ! Th' ensanguined wave of war, 
 
 Its lethal fury past, made pact with peace. 
 
 Dumb was the royal town, in grasp of hate 
 
 Victorious and leaden-tongued despair. 
 
 Melodious no more with service praise 
 
 The pillared minster rang, but mournful stood 
 
 Song-stilled, and voiceful only with the groan 
 
 Of prisoner death-wounded, or the sigh 
 
 Of them more wretched still, awaiting doom 
 
 Of slavery in stern Bostonian shore ! 
 
 From hour to hour the number grew of these, 
 
 Unwilling worshippers, though often Death 
 
 His gelid finger laid on suff'rer brow 
 
 Spake voiceless, yet resistless : ' Friend, give place 
 
 To other ; thou art bidden upper seat ! 
 
 Unearthed from cave and cellar vain asile 
 
 The beaten foe was haled, until no more 
 
 Of pris'ner congregation could the fane, 
 
 But stood averseful gaol, its hoary walls 
 
 And portals closely sentinelled and kept 
 
 On every side by stern-faced guards, who saw 
 
 In victory but crowning mercy, wrought 
 
 For them, by them unworthy instruments 
 
 Of Him that faithful kept His Israel, 
 
 And slumbered not nor slept. 
 
Rahere. 229 
 
 Within the aisle, 
 
 Anigh the choir, Sir Edward Hewett stood 
 Beside a hundred sullen Highlandmen, 
 Whose looks, whose speech, though little understood, 
 Yet spake resentment, anger, and mislike, 
 That but a spark had flamed to active hate. 
 For was he not a Saxon, Scotia's bane ? 
 And were they not by such as he undone ? 
 Led from the land they loved to hopeless field 
 Of death, or yet more hopeless servitude ? 
 
 Slow dragged the painful hours. At noon the guard 
 That stood without forced back the portal door. 
 Then came a file of carbineers and bound 
 The knight all unresistful save for speech : 
 ' What need to bind a willing captive, friends ? 
 May I not die as knight and gentleman ?' 
 ' Be that as may,' made answer one, ' but first 
 Must wait the general's pleasure ! Bear him on !' 
 
 A little way they led him, then made halt 
 Before a gateway sentinelled, but passed 
 Within, the challenge given and the sign ; 
 Then up a cumbrous stair to sturdy door, 
 That smitten gave back answer faintly heard 
 Through heart of oak : ' Within !' So entered they, 
 Saluting him that writing sat, nor looked 
 From off his scroll till all his task was done. 
 
 A panelled room, low-ceiled, with window broad 
 That gave upon the courtyard's cobbled pave 
 An oval table strewn with documents, 
 And him thereat freed England's arbiter, 
 
230 Rahere. 
 
 Wise helmsman of her dest'ny, cynosure 
 Of Europe, all astonished and afraid 
 This saw Sir Edward while the victor wrote, 
 But not as ready writer, one to whom 
 The pen was facile, but with knitted brow 
 And often interjection, till at last, 
 His laboured despatch o'er, he flung aside 
 His style like wearied schoolboy. 
 
 ' Ah, the lad !' 
 
 He said to him that officered the troop 
 ' But bound ! I bade not that. Nay, nay, too brave 
 The boy to turn assassin ! Set him free ! 
 And wait without ; I may have other need.' 
 
 They gone, his mournful eyes upon the knight 
 
 The conq'ror long time set ; then slowly spake : 
 
 ' Come nearer, lad. Your name ? Yet sit you down 
 
 In window-seat ; your weariness doth show 
 
 Full plain, for all your mask of unconcern 
 
 Again, your name ? 
 
 Hewett, and son of him 
 That gave good aid in gold from time to time 
 When most our business needed ! Lad, what fit 
 Of madness drew you here, malignant, when 
 The Lord did purpose final overthrow 
 Of Belial seed, with mercy for His saints 
 Complete and overwhelming ? Nor enough 
 Yourself to brave your country, but must bring 
 Your brother and a chit to battle doom.' 
 
 This gainsaid he. Then clouded Cromwell's brow : 
 'How dost Thou blind them, Lord, they cannot see, 
 
Rahere. 231 
 
 And yet so plain to zealous eye Thy law ! 
 
 Sir George Carew ! and John Carew did set 
 
 His hand with me to that which startling rang 
 
 The knell of tyranny in England ; shook 
 
 Each despot throne in Europe ; quaked each heart 
 
 That sat thereon, self-judged, with coward fear 
 
 Of righteous retribution.' 
 
 Silent now 
 
 The victor stood, his mighty face ablaze 
 With fire of indignation. Soon again 
 His searching eyes surveyed the weary youth, 
 And milder grew at sight of pain restrained, 
 Yet evident in attitude and mien : 
 ' Art hungry, lad ? Needs must. See, here is food, 
 Mine own untasted. Mercies such as this, 
 Exceeding thought, do satisfy the soul 
 Yea, e'en the flesh beyond all meat and drink.' 
 
 A little ate the youth of gratitude ; 
 
 Then stayed again the warrior in his walk, 
 
 And spake him not unkindly : ' Lad, yestreen, 
 
 Where hottest showed the scrabble, marked I you, 
 
 Foe such as foe assured of victory 
 
 Might spare, and sparing honour most himself, 
 
 But friend-changed, grapple to his soul as fast 
 
 As Jonathan did David. Boy, again 
 
 I ask what moved you glut your stripling sword 
 
 With patriot blood ?' 
 
 Now spake Sir Edward slow, 
 And otherwise than as he first designed, 
 His ruder thought o'erborne by courtesy 
 
232 Rahere. 
 
 And soldier treatment : ' Sir, you claim the right 
 To fight for Parliament ! So I for king, 
 The older and, as some do deem it still, 
 The better cause.' 
 
 The steely eyes flashed fire : 
 The warrior's face grew stern with cold contempt 
 As made he ready answer : ' Boy, you speak 
 As one to whom fair landskip were but patch 
 Of painter pigments idly mingled one 
 That devil-blinded argues blaze of day 
 But blur of sagging mist. Boy, boy ! we fought 
 For liberty against a trait'rous king ; 
 But you, of childish pity crazed, to bind 
 Fresh forged of shame and vengeful enmity- 
 The gyves we brake so late from off your limbs. 
 Hast never heard of Leighton ? Elliot pined, 
 Brave honest heart, to death in royal gaol ? 
 Monopolies and fines ? Star Chamber law, 
 Against all mercy, justice, evidence? 
 Decrees against all freedom ? Penalty 
 Of cell and stripes for them that dared assert 
 A royal proclamation never law ? 
 Truth manacled of prelacy, with faith 
 And conscience buffeted of hireling priests ? 
 These were the ills that drave us after long 
 And patient parley to th' arbitrament, 
 The sharp but wholesome judgment of the sword. 
 I tell thee, lad, had we not fall'n to arms 
 Against Charles Stuart and his tyrannies, 
 Our children and their children's children shame 
 Had cried upon our manhood ! 
 
Rahere. 233 
 
 That we did 
 
 His will therein, who setteth up the meek, 
 And hurleth oft the tyrant out his seat, 
 Is plain in this, that ever on our side 
 The God of battles fought, until we beat 
 Our haughty foes as small as garner dust, 
 And trod both king and prelate hopeless down !' 
 
 Thus Cromwell, ever more and more his voice 
 
 Thrilling with rugged eloquence, until 
 
 The chamber vocal rang as clarion call 
 
 Voiced wall and panel. Silence following on, 
 
 Strange sense Sir Edward felt of littleness, 
 
 As one in unthought presence of a soul 
 
 A world above his own. Some little while 
 
 In silence either gazed upon his foe, 
 
 Then Cromwell spake again : ' Thou'rt but a boy, 
 
 And I a fool to take thee at thy word ; 
 
 Yet, lad, I like thy spirit, and would prove, 
 
 Late foe, new friend. 'Twas but a brainless freak 
 
 That brought thee hither ; all the land beside 
 
 Unmoved, or only moved to disavow 
 
 Part in the madman project of the Scot;- 
 
 And him their two-faced puppet, called their king ! 
 
 Change sides. Henceforth the steely arbiter 
 
 Untroubled dwells in's sheath, yet earnest souls 
 
 May find enow of conflict e'en in peace 
 
 To sate the battle instinct of the man. 
 
 The war is o'er ; 'twas hopeless from the first 
 
 For them that took the trap I crafty set : 
 
 Not but ' and here the rugged face lit up 
 
234 Rahere. 
 
 With soldier admiration ' thousand such 
 As thee had natheless given me larger task. 
 But yet a word : what project hadst thou, lad, 
 So madly charging down, and all alone ? 
 
 'Tis thought to take me unaware ' 
 
 ' No, no !' 
 
 The knight brake forth while Cromwell keenly heard ; 
 ' Not that ! I am no murd'rer. All was lost 
 Did not some happy chance retrieve the day. 
 'Twas life for life : I called thee as I came 
 Had never struck thee wardless.' 
 
 ' So I deemed,' 
 
 The victor answered, smiling. ' More, methought 
 I heard thee challenge, but some said me nay. 
 Good lad, 'twas folly. He doth hedge about 
 His saints so sure they get them never harm. 
 A thousand fall beside them, yet they stand ; 
 Nor night nor day know terror, but repose 
 Beneath His wings safe- bucklered and assured.' 
 
 Thus Cromwell, fervent, while Sir Edward sighed : 
 
 ' In truth 'twas folly, but for hope of that 
 
 All day so vainly sought, and aye denied, 
 
 Death, that doth end with greatly-welcome dart 
 
 Loss and remorse, with pang of viper shame. 
 
 Yet am I glad my enterprise did fail ; 
 
 'Twas battle frenzy leagued with inscient thought 
 
 Of thee, far other than persuades me now. 
 
 Be that enough of that. But, for the rest, 
 
 Whate'er befall I cannot do your will, 
 
 My loyalty fast pledged to saintly dead.' 
 
Rahere. 235 
 
 Then Cromwell spake again with knitted brow : 
 
 ' Past comprehension art thou, lad ! Why rush 
 
 So madly still to ruin, battle heat 
 
 No longer pleading soldier lenity ? 
 
 Thy words convey a meaning far apart 
 
 From youth and boyhood's golden-footed crew. 
 
 What sorrow's thine, so deep thou biddest death 
 
 Relieve thee, and of what but common ill ? 
 
 Shame on thee, lad ! despaired at first reverse 
 
 Sustained of fate, life's threshold barely crossed. 
 
 Thy father dead, thou hast a fair estate, 
 
 Or hadst, should Parliament take cognizance 
 
 Of this thy freak. Believe me, boy, there's naught 
 
 Like wholesome toil to lift the troubled soul 
 
 Out quagmires of despair. Take service, then, 
 
 With me, I say ; I'll bear thee safely through 
 
 The outcome of thy folly. Know, of all 
 
 The hundreds cooped in yonder popish pile, 
 
 Few shall return to Scotland with the tale 
 
 How England mowed th' incursive thistle down. 
 
 Thus shall it ring the louder in all ears, 
 
 And longer. Monk besides shall press it home 
 
 At sword's point, need be !' 
 
 Cromwell thus, full stern, 
 With gleam of anger kindling in his eye 
 Whene'er he named the Scotsmen. Slowly now 
 Sir Edward made rejoinder : 
 
 ' From my heart 
 
 I thank you for your proffer, but will share 
 Plantation or the gibbet with the rest, 
 Or e'er I break the pledge I gave the dead. 
 
236 Rahere. 
 
 You, too, had mother, my lord general ; let 
 Your thoughts a moment worship at her grave, 
 Thereafter shall they better comrade mine. 
 The grief to boot that drew me hitherward, 
 Death questing, wealth can neither soothe nor bate. 
 Is it not writ : One seeking goodly pearls, 
 Discovering such of price, sold all he had 
 In haste, so he might call the gem his own ? 
 What, then, to him is wealth, who, having found 
 Pearl beyond price redemptless, flings aside 
 The gem, and with it peace for evermore ?' 
 
 Short silence followed. Cromwell then : ' Good lad, 
 Thou speak'st in riddles ; yet one thing to me 
 Is plain : thy grief hath touch of madness in't.' 
 Now moving thoughtful up and down, erelong 
 He turned abrupt upon his prisoner : ' Boy, 
 Whate'er the thing be that doth clog thy brain, 
 And shut thine ears to friendly importune, 
 Death is no heal-all ; I do bid thee live ! 
 No pearl so priceful as an eager soul 
 In righteous cause ; no prayer so effable 
 For pardon as a Godward-serviced life ! 
 So live henceforth, and grief shall be but wing 
 Of angel, imping up thy burdened soul 
 To sweetest peace and untold happiness.' 
 
 - 
 
 Now wrote he on a paper. ' Take thou this ; 
 'Twill bear thee safe without the kingdom first 
 Thy promise giv'n no more to lend thyself 
 To enterprise against the Commonwealth. 
 
Rahere. 237 
 
 Nay, thank me not ; I give thee but the thing 
 'Twould seem thou valuest least. Yet an thou wilt, 
 Thou mayst be messenger to one in Ghent ? 
 Take, then, this packet ; Nay, I trust thee, lad 
 Needs never protestation. Fare thee well !' 
 
 The letters hidden, Cromwell called the guard, 
 
 And gave command to have the youth without 
 
 The town and camp in safety. This they did, 
 
 Much marv'lling, but with never thought to cross 
 
 Their general's bidding, England's greatest son, 
 
 Maligned of abjects then, as now by fools, 
 
 That suck the blessings born of liberty, 
 
 Won for them, graceless, by his warrior sword, 
 
 And full, revile the filler, prating still 
 
 Of loyalty, as loyalty were not 
 
 Faith to one's fellows ; jealously to guard 
 
 The welfare of the many 'gainst the few ; 
 
 To loose a free-born people from the yoke 
 
 Of tyrant, or release a groaning folk 
 
 From lash of despot ! 
 
 Out the lines a horse 
 
 They gave him. Thus Sir Edward Hewett rode 
 Unscathed from weeping Worcester's fatal field, 
 To seek in lands 'yond England's circling sea, 
 In court or camp, wild war or fertile peace, 
 Forgetfulness of woe, that, e'en awhile 
 Forgot, like ash-sprung Phoenix rose anew 
 Within his soul, by deathless love revived, 
 And penitence, enchast'ning imp of love ! 
 
238 Rahere. 
 
 PART III. 
 I. 
 
 SLOW roll the years, a weary tale to him 
 Fore-doomed to bear the burden of remorse, 
 Life's weightiest fardel, bound to wand'rer back ! 
 Love's hunger joined to constant sense of loss 
 And Tantal dream of all that might have been 
 But for some deadly self-inflicted shock, 
 What need to feign the fallacy of hell, 
 The soul its own Gehenna ? 
 
 Harassed thus, 
 
 Sir Edward Hewett ever restless moved, 
 His sword at call of any save the Turk ; 
 Careless whate'er the enterprise, so long 
 It crost not soldier's honour, nor might lack 
 The zest of Danger, pursuivant of Death. 
 Self-held and silent, taking never part 
 In aught beside his duties song and cup 
 And dice put by as things too small for scorn 
 The rather had his fellows held him foe 
 Than friend, had not his scanty purse been first 
 To ope at comrade's need ; his doughty sword 
 Been chief in conflict ; ward, or thrust or stroke 
 Not seldom yielding over-fraughted mate 
 A timely succour ! 
 
 Vainly courting Death, 
 Death fled him ever, like to woman-maid 
 That, wistful, yet doth shun entreative swain, 
 Her girl-fears conqu'ring still conservant fire ! 
 Thus he pursuing, Death, his suppliant face 
 
Rahere. 239 
 
 Beholding, coldly turned him otherwhere, 
 To slay where slaughter best his mood malign 
 Might fill with hope of after-bitterness ! 
 
 Yet gained Sir Edward fame, and in its track 
 Command and wealth had followed ; but no ear 
 He lent ambition, while the thought of gold 
 The thrice-curst source of all his misery 
 His soul abhorred. Disdainful thus, his name 
 Was often on fair lips, and yet the more, 
 However fair, no maid could win a smile 
 Or look, or word 'yond soldier courtesy ! 
 
 So passed the years ! His frame with warrior toil 
 Was knit to ampler manhood. In his port 
 Was dignity with consciousness of power. 
 His lofty brow, sunburned, was nothing marred 
 By canker care, which only in his eyes 
 Deep-dwelled, and spake of sorrow 'yond compare. 
 
 Yet had he friends ; nay more, companions they, 
 That ofttimes wiser read the face of men, 
 As later come from heaven's all-sentient shore 
 Than they that bare them eager sought him out 
 To share his walk or play about his path, 
 Glad of his stalwart manhood, and the smile 
 The rare sweet smile he kept for them alone. 
 These sometimes bringing gifts of flowers, one eve 
 A maid scarce taller than his knee held forth 
 A sprig of woodbine. 
 
 Sudden to his breast 
 
 He snatched the laughing youngling, bending o'er 
 The curly head to hide the surging woe 
 
240 Rahere. 
 
 That marred his sight. She, looking up, beheld 
 His sorrow, and was, child-like, moved to tears 
 Of angel sympathy. So, setting down the maid, 
 He, in a moment master of himself, 
 Assuaged her grief with kiss and pleasantry : 
 4 Nay, Bliimchen, never weep ! The sun did shine 
 So gloriously, methought your golden head 
 Was all ablaze !' So said he, and put by 
 The child's entreaty. 
 
 But at night he drew 
 From out his vest a silken fold that held 
 A sprig of woodbine, sere and crisp, the same 
 Rahere of old had giv'n him when he first 
 Revealed his love and sought responsive pledge. 
 This pressed he to his lips the while his head 
 Lay in his hands upon the chamber board, 
 Till Night, Morn-challenged, yielded place to Day. 
 
 ***** 
 It was the time that, Cromwell dead, the land 
 Perplexed and torn this way and that at length 
 Made terms with him upon whose head a price 
 Before had been determined. With the morn 
 Came tidings through a comrade that the king 
 1 His own enjoyed again,' had been received 
 In England as some mighty conqueror 
 Returned victorious after deadly grip 
 With foe that perilled empire. 
 
 ' Now for home, 
 
 And recompense for all our exile toil ! 
 The canting knave that got old Templeton, 
 And for a song, when Worcester wrecked us both, 
 
Roller e, 241 
 
 Shall quick disgorge at sword's point an there's need. 
 When say you that we start ? 'Tis heavenly news !' 
 
 Thus he that brought the tidings. All unmoved, 
 
 Or moved but little by th' intelligence, 
 
 The knight began : ' I go not back ! For me ' 
 
 When quick his comrade made remonstrance keen : 
 ' Not back ! not back ! why, man, but this is worse 
 Than very spring-tide madness ! Not go back, 
 But let some cuckoo Crophead keep you out 
 Your proper nest ! Why, you were counted rich 
 Beyond us all !' 
 
 ' And am so still, good friend,' 
 The knight replied. ' I game not, heither sink 
 The Godlike in the beast, nor blunt the sting 
 Of recollection in oblivious cup, 
 And so am rich beyond all wish and need. 
 Is't not enough ? what would your lordship more ?' 
 ' What more, what more ! why, surely everything ! 
 Dost never quicken pulse at maiden clasp ? 
 Or feel thy soul at music of a sigh 
 Thrill so thou heard'st celestial symphony ? 
 Ne'er leaps thy heart what time the clicker dice 
 
 Bring fortune ' 
 
 ' Ay, and thrice-felt beggary 
 Remembrance ever wielding scorpion lash 
 To him that cursing loses,' interposed 
 Sir Edward grimly. But the other laughed : 
 ' Sir Puritan, why, therein's half the charm 
 The risk, the catch-breath expectation, flush 
 Of fever- blood ! But surely you will home ?' 
 
 16 
 
242 Rahere. 
 
 ' Not I ! The land has never home for me, 
 With none to bid me welcome of my kin ; 
 But only mem'ries bitter as a draught 
 Of grand-dam garlic. Here at least, methinks, 
 Some few would miss me of the poorer sort, 
 And some few children. All the world is home 
 To him whose thoughts are bonded nevermore 
 With things of earth, but heav'n.' 
 
 ' Ay, ay ! but, then, 
 
 'Tis time to service heav'n when earth's at end. 
 The country needeth men you are of them ; 
 I say it not in flattery, grant me that 
 Who ever must be helmsmen in a state. 
 The king will need good counsellors, as ships 
 Need ballast, and the more his hither course 
 Has not been of the fairest. You may be 
 Whate'er you will ! When Dunkirk fell, he heard 
 Your part therein, and spake of Worcester field ; 
 And swore, long since he had been England's king, 
 A score such in his service.' 
 
 ' Go you, then,' 
 
 The knight rejoined, unmoved, ' and do your best 
 For England. But, be sure, whate'er you do, 
 The king will aye undo it. Monk will find 
 Himself of little worth whene'er the king 
 Shall seat him firmly. I do truly think 
 His reign will be but evil. We do know 
 Him better far than London's fickle crowd, 
 Or England love-sick of her late spurned rule. 
 Nay, prove me nevermore ! I am resolved ! 
 I had to Breda, like to you, when first 
 
Rahere. 243 
 
 Monk broached his project, had I purposed aught ; 
 But you well, here's my purse at comrade's need !' 
 
 Thereafter stayed he little while. But oft 
 His thoughts would homeward turn, his comrades gone ; 
 And that the more, some, mindful of him still, 
 Would send him greeting with well-meant reproof. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 One day a storm swept furious o'er the town, 
 And all the streets ran torrent-like with rain ; 
 Loud spake the thunder, while the lightning clave 
 The vault of heav'n to scorch the face of earth. 
 An ancient church stood ope, and shelter there 
 Sir Edward took, and, standing thoughtful, came 
 Upon him vision of Saint Bartlemy : 
 Rahere before the altar, kneeling low, 
 As last he saw her ere the angel flame 
 Touched her, and, touching, painless bare her home. 
 
 A thousand times remembrance had portrayed 
 The scene with grief-dipped pencil ne'er as now. 
 All overcome, he reeled as one in wine, 
 And, clutching pillar, flung him down, and laid 
 His aching head against the pavement stone ; 
 While woke within him longing passionate, 
 Once more to gaze upon her tomb and die. 
 
 Not long thereafter, where the simple slab 
 Within the crumbling priory at home 
 Told of the guileless maid asleep beneath, 
 Long time a tall and stalwart soldier knelt 
 
244 Rahere. 
 
 With lips compressed and down-bent head, and gaze 
 That worshipped ever the one word ' Rahere.' 
 Now plashed upon the slab a burning tear, 
 And now the lips unlocking, heart-breathed sigh, 
 ' Rahere, Rahere !' swept sadly o'er the dead. 
 Then rose he and departed, yet as one 
 That must be gone unwilling, looking back 
 Continual, till arch and column hid 
 The founder's tomb, and where the maiden lay, 
 Rich gem in humble casket. 
 
 Now without 
 
 The broken porch he crossed the dreary field, 
 And took him to the gate, her once abode. 
 Here passing under, turned he, as of old 
 Upgazing at the casement, where her face 
 Had smiled upon him, and her lustrous eyes 
 Love's tell-tale orators had fired his soul 
 Like coal from angel altar. 
 
 ' I have done, 
 
 Dear love,' he sighed, 'such penance as before 
 None did nor can hereafter. Since I held 
 Thy little hand, no hand of womankind 
 Has lain in mine ; since last my greedy arms 
 Held thee, complacent prisoner of love, 
 Contemptuous all of lover use, they spurn 
 To fetter other, having fettered thee. 
 Mine eyes are blinded but to one sweet face, 
 Fairest of all the sinless sisterhood 
 That share thy bliss and bask amid thy smiles. 
 No voice may move me, save thine own whene'er 
 In dream I hear again thy sad farewell 
 
Raliere. 245 
 
 And craving pity and forgiveness wake, 
 
 The music of thine accents agony 
 
 To sleep-deceived ears ! Where'er thou art, 
 
 Soul of my soul, so truly loved, behold 
 
 Thy grief-worn penitent, of very pain 
 
 Returned to worship at thy tomb, and speak 
 
 The peace all vainly sought in stranger lands.' 
 
 So murmured he, and out a dullard cloud 
 
 The westering sun shone forth, its slanting beam 
 
 Full on the blazoned casement that again 
 
 Cast down its burnished splendours and on him. 
 
 And with the gleam, as angel wing it were, 
 
 Love-charged for him with message from the dead, 
 
 Came blessed peace within his breast, as when 
 
 Some mother famished of her fear receives 
 
 News of her sailor darling 'scaped the storm. 
 
 And turning thence, mind-eased in wondrous wise, 
 His heart aglow with comfort long unknown 
 And sense of full forgiveness, from his lips 
 Brake, grateful, trembling : ' Am I then forgiv'n, 
 Sweet love, sweet love ? Thy spirit, sure, did haunt 
 These rugged walls, and patient wait the day 
 Thy lover, passion-purged, should come again, 
 To speak him soul to soul, his penance done, 
 And breathe forgiveness ere ecstatic flight 
 Thou took'st to realms celestial, infinite.' 
 
 Now fell a shadow on him rang the air 
 With cheery greeting, hearty welcoming : 
 ' Sir Edward ! and Sir Edward home again ! 
 
246 Rahere. 
 
 Now God be praised ! But, lad, how broad and brown ! 
 
 And, marry ! but Goliah's grip is thine ! 
 
 Yet grip again and yet again. I heard 
 
 Thou wouldst not back, and swore to seek thee out 
 
 Did but another laggard se'nnight pass, 
 
 And no word from thee.' 
 
 Thus the farrier Gould, 
 His honest face enkindling, and the more 
 He saw responsive light within the eyes 
 Of him he greeted. ' Come, lad, in ! The gate 
 Is as thou left'st it. First but look within 
 The stable. See, Delight is Arrant fool 
 Am I to stir up trenchant memories ! 
 Yet, see, the mare doth know thee. Well done, lass ! 
 Ay, ay ! thou hast thy master back again ; 
 Wilt bear him bravely yet, for all thy years.' 
 
 That night Sir Edward lay within the gate, 
 Guest to his humbler friend. O'er foaming stoup, 
 Full oft replenished, sat they, till the dawn, 
 Graying the casement, chid loquacity. 
 Then rose the knight : ' To-morrow will I go 
 To Beech Hill, and the rather you affirm 
 Sir Giles tyrannic master. Would, indeed, 
 Old Gilbert Hales did live ! Let them that will 
 Decry the dead ! To me was Cromwell friend, 
 And eke to him thereafter. Like himself 
 It was to rate the rogues that sought to void 
 My deed of gift, well knowing it was made 
 Before malignancy, convenient phrase, 
 Coined of the snatch-purse knaves to cover hate, 
 
Rahere. 247 
 
 Revenge, and theft, and robbery of babes 
 War-beggared of their sires or hapless maids 
 And widows, weak and friendless, easy spoil. 
 But now good-night. Yet supererogate 
 The wish in me for thee, thy wholesome thoughts, 
 Like spirit-children of thy mind, a guard 
 Impregnable about thee night and day !' 
 
 II. 
 
 Pale sentinel of thought, sleep negligent, 
 The knight withdrew, and, as his often wont, 
 Slow pacing watched the pearly face of Dawn 
 Flush roseate at the kissing of Dan Day, 
 Like lovely maid arrayed for holy rite, 
 That, innocent and pale with unknown fear, 
 Beholds her groom impatient at the gate 
 With priest and quire and merry minstrel train ; 
 And, seeing, heeds no more till husband kiss, 
 Love's master-key, unlocks the realm of joy. 
 
 Soon shone the sun resplendent. Through the pane 
 The bright beam leaped, like living spirit waked 
 Anew to bliss and blessing. Chanticleer 
 From coop and cratch his shrilly challenge lift, 
 While out the dovecot poured melodious moan. 
 Beneath the eaves the sparrows, stirring, preened, 
 Then twittering forth bade God's new day good-day ! 
 Fresh was the breeze that out the shadowy west 
 Came hastily at glimpsing of the Dawn, 
 To purge ere moil of day the turgid town 
 
248 Rahere. 
 
 With wholesome odours out th' unsullied fields, 
 Benignant sucked from sleeping bud and bloom. 
 
 Erelong arose the carter's cheery song, 
 His fodder-wain, high piled from steamy stack, 
 Loud creaking through the gate, while all abroad 
 The long-pent fragrance fed the nearer gale. 
 Then rang the stithy anvil ; first the vast 
 And wheezy bellows fanning languid flame 
 To fulgent fury, rageful spark, and roar. 
 So woke the town anew to healthy toil 
 Mad mirth or dirge, dull base to bridal bells 
 To cank'rous grief, that chid the smile of day 
 Or joy expectant, counting haste delay 
 To all the tangling accidents of life, 
 Accursed of Fate or cheered by Fortune's smile. 
 
 Fair are thy fields, O England ! fair thy woods 
 That birth the breeze and draw the welcome shower, 
 Life-giving, out the fertile-bosomed cloud, 
 Down to the bright-hued children of their shade. 
 Fair are thy lanes, hedge-bordered, whether Spring, 
 Bemocking Winter's penance-sheet of snow, 
 Burgeons the fresh-leaved thorn, and all the way 
 O'erhangs with fragrant robe of creamy white ; 
 Or whether Summer bids the trailing bine 
 Its trumpet blossoms proffer, scattering blast 
 Sweet as Colombian gale that, o'er the main 
 Far-breathing, still the hidden isle betrays 
 Although the sailor vainly scan the sea ; 
 Or Autumn pranking out the sturdy briar 
 
Rahere. 249 
 
 In livery of scarlet wayfare tree 
 For comrade servitor, with trav'ler's joy 
 For plume amid their bonnets. Fairer none 
 World over nay, nor any half so fair ! 
 
 So thought Sir Edward Hewett as he rode 
 Once more along the pleasant summer lanes, 
 Oft resting as some once familiar scene 
 Rose on his gaze delighted, either hand, 
 As wind of lane revealed, or crest of hill ; 
 Or, all unlooked-for opening 'mid the trees 
 Enticed the eye to where, reposeful, stood 
 Gray homestead, cot, or time-old sylvan hall. 
 
 ' And I am home again, dear land !' he sighed, 
 
 ' Who thought to come no more ; and every hour 
 
 I linger makes me half-heart denizen 
 
 My every step but added link to chain 
 
 Of voluntary bondage.' Thus the knight. 
 
 Nor long thereafter, when the mullioned hall, 
 
 His father's and his own, brake into view, 
 
 His heart sprang up, and all a-sudden stood 
 
 Hill, park, and hall obscured by misty veil. 
 
 The weakness past, he thoughtful rode until, 
 
 The road disparting this toward the hall, 
 
 And this to Beechen Hadley and the green 
 
 Delight unchidden of her rider took 
 
 The lodge-way track with ever-quick'ning stride, 
 
 As who would say, ' This way must be ; 'tis home !' 
 
 He gave her rein, sad smiling, nothing loath 
 
 Himself to view his boyhood home anear. 
 
 The gates were shut. Delight, impatient, neighed, 
 
250 Rahere. 
 
 ^ 
 
 And at the sound came forth a stranger dame, 
 Who, curtseying, stood uncertain. 
 
 ' Who is now 
 
 The master at the Hall ?' Sir Edward asked, 
 By way of pretext for intrusiveness. 
 ' Sir Giles Fitzwarren, please your honour. But 
 There is himself a-coming.' 
 
 O'er the space, 
 
 Betwixt the gate and beechen avenue, 
 There came a man age-bent, on potence staff, 
 Who, formal courtesy past, his pleasure bade. 
 Then said the knight : ' I am but lately come 
 From France all loyal Englishmen to home 
 Had there Sir Edward Hewett's only son 
 For comrade him that should be master here. 
 Nay, frown not at the name, Sir Giles. Himself 
 Reluctant to return, nor half resolved, 
 Did bid me come of friendship, proffer terms 
 Full honourable to both, but most to you. 
 An he should come, what say you ? Will you yield 
 Possession on fair purchase ?' 
 
 Thus the knight 
 
 To adversary, generous. Churlish he 
 Made answer hasty : ' Time enough for terms 
 Sir Edward home. No busy go-between 
 I suffer ! 'Tis my answer ! Sir, good-day !' 
 So snarled he through the bars. Sir Edward smiled, 
 Then, careless, bowed and turned Delight away. 
 
 ' So had I said, Sir Giles Fitzwarren, I ! 
 
 Well, well, 'twould seem a spell is on the place. 
 
Roller e. 251 
 
 Niggard succeeding niggard ! There's the lake ! 
 
 And there the willow dangling as of yore, 
 
 Its withy screen before the traitor's hole, 
 
 And rustling ghostly as the pallid shade 
 
 Of him that hideous, struggling, shook the tree 
 
 In death-throe penalty for treachery, 
 
 Did haunt for evermore his place of doom !' 
 
 Thus he, recalling tale of Barons' war. 
 
 And after : ' Ay, there's gold enough to buy 
 
 The place thrice over, should it yet be hid.' 
 
 A grassy way, with vault of pendent ash, 
 
 And panelling of maple broader grown 
 
 To bosquet hedge, led up to comely farm. 
 
 The gate wide ope, he rode within the yard, 
 
 And, halting, called a name in stentor tone. 
 
 A hale old man came forward. First the knight 
 
 He eyed full sharply, then Delight, and then 
 
 Gave forth a shout : ' Sir Edward ! Boys, the squire ! 
 
 The squire God bless him ! home to cheer us all !' 
 
 Then brake his voice, nor more could say, but wept. 
 
 Soon seated 'twixt the farmer and his dame, 
 Whose sturdy sons stood bashful nigh, while oft 
 A shout went up without, and eager eyes 
 Gleamed at the casement or the part-closed door, 
 Sir Edward felt a novel pleasure wake 
 Within his breast, and chide what lingered yet 
 Of morbid self-excision. Soon he spake : 
 ' I did not think to have such welcoming, 
 Old friend and friends ; I left you when a boy, 
 Despairing, reckless, mindful but of self.' 
 
252 Rahere. 
 
 ' Nay, nay, Sir Edward ! Nay, we heard the tale,' 
 
 The farmer brake in quickly ; ' not a heart 
 
 But bled to hear it. Yet 'twas foreordained, 
 
 And long ago. God rest the maiden's soul ! 
 
 You must aback and wed a proper mate. 
 
 My dame doth bless you night and day for thought, 
 
 In all the harass of your own distress, 
 
 Of us, and what might follow Worcester fight. 
 
 We had the gold of Hales, and but for that, 
 
 With murrain, blight, and double rent, had lost 
 
 The homestead, been adrift to starve or steal.' 
 
 Surprised Sir Edward heard. Then came to mind 
 His charge to Gilbert not to spare the store, 
 Occasion needing. This recalled, he smiled, 
 And answered with intention : ' Friend, of that 
 We'll more anon, what time, restored, I ask 
 Accompt of Gilbert.' 
 
 ' Nay, the steward's dead,' 
 The old man answered gravely. 
 
 { So I heard 
 
 Last night from Gould the farrier. Also this : 
 Young Hales doth hold a stead at Totteridge, 
 Cock Fosters sold a year or so agone. 
 Some message he for me will surely hold, 
 Perchance some papers.' 
 
 ' Ay, the steward left 
 
 Three such, for fear they should mischance. Here's one ! 
 Ha, ha ! the old man knew his men ! For all 
 My debt he came, and harboured one with me. 
 Right glad am I the first to give accompt.' 
 
Rahere. 253 
 
 So chuckling, rose the farmer from his seat, 
 
 And now, unlocking banded chest of oak, 
 
 With ponderous key that slid an inner bolt 
 
 Back from its hasp with shock that shook the chest, 
 
 Took out a broadsheet letter. This the knight, 
 
 Perusing slowly, read of steadfast worth 
 
 And true devotion. How the gold was safe, 
 
 Its caverned hiding-place to none revealed : 
 
 How yet from time to time, as need arose 
 
 Among the tenants, mostly from the greed 
 
 Of their new master, something from the store 
 
 He warily had taken, so the love 
 
 He bare his master they might doubly bear, 
 
 Whom yet he friended, absent ! Followed prayer 
 
 For quick return, before his aged eyes 
 
 Shut on the world without the solace balm 
 
 Of smile or tear from long-desired face. 
 
 A schedule of the sums so timely lent 
 Accompanied the letter. This the knight 
 Put by unread. ' Now, Gilbert, mayst thou rest 
 In peace for pattern of an honest man !' 
 He said, much moved, the while he put away 
 The papers in his doublet. Yet an hour 
 He stayed ; Delight, a crowd about her stall, 
 Regaling of the best, then took the road, 
 Far followed by a shouting from the farm, 
 To Totteridge and the stead of younger Hales. 
 
 Of purpose riding slow along the green, 
 Each memorable feature either hand 
 Bidding delay, or courting second look, 
 
254 Rahere. 
 
 A-sudden swept the music of the bells 
 
 The beacon belfry out, melodious roar 
 
 That filled the air and bade the swaying woods, 
 
 Blend all their myriad murmurings in the strain. 
 
 An urchin passing by : ' Why ring the bells ? 
 
 Good lad, canst tell me ?' 
 
 Quick the boy replied, 
 
 Touching his forelock : ' Sir, the squire is home, 
 Sir Edward Hewett, him that went away 
 To fight Old Noll at Worcester. When 'tis night, 
 'Tis said they'll fire the beacon.' Thus the lad, 
 And bounded off to tell the mighty news 
 To comrades seen against the hither wood. 
 
 And deep within the lonesome wanderer's breast 
 
 The music sinking thousand echoes woke 
 
 Responsive to its pleading. ' Here is home,' 
 
 Again and yet again each swirling bell 
 
 In clamorous persistence seemed to say, 
 
 ' With honest hearts that love you. Wand'rer, stay 
 
 Man's truest mate is duty. Grief for loss 
 
 Too long indulged is triple loss, that doth 
 
 But wreck the present in the stormy past, 
 
 And cloud the future with respicient pain.' 
 
 ***** 
 His task benign to grateful Terra done, 
 The Sun his empire orb began to veil 
 In fleece of gold that, slow descending, sank 
 Ablaze with proud effulgence to the main. 
 And couched upon a bank within a wood 
 A sunny bank where purpling tufts of thyme 
 
Rahere. 255 
 
 Wedded the sward Sir Edward thoughtful lay, 
 Escaped awhile from welcomings that grew 
 Almost to weariness. 
 
 A scroll lay near 
 
 In bed of alehoof, whose disparted whorls 
 Gave out reproachful fragrance for the rude 
 And unredressed intrusion. At his feet 
 Of instinct made a friend within an hour 
 A hound stretched out his nozzle o'er his paws, 
 And drowsy waited. Through the quivering leaves 
 The red light danced, to gild the restless boughs 
 That waved loquacious in the wakening breeze, 
 Or flush the bole of some mound monarch tree 
 With lingering kiss at parting. 
 
 Overhead 
 
 The rooks sailed, weary, homeward, often caw 
 Encheering stragglers onward. Not enough 
 Of his sweet freight encargasoned, the bee 
 Hummed loud, one last load seeking ere his home 
 He sought complacent. Evensong the birds 
 In chorus lifted, till some nearer mate, 
 Song-frenzied and to passion-rapture fired, 
 Shook all the wood, and, thrilling heart and ear, 
 Attuned the list'ner's soul to sympathy. 
 
 ' Ah, God, how happy all Thy world but man ! 
 
 And he Thine image ! Is it, Lord, that we 
 
 Do err in seeking happiness on earth ? 
 
 Our other, larger home Thy home the goal 
 
 Of all our aims, our only blessedness.' 
 
 So murmured he, what time the woodland lay, 
 
256 Rahere. 
 
 A moment stilled, brake forth again more near. 
 
 c Though sorrow make us wise, and stripes do bring 
 
 The errant soul again to wisdom's way, 
 
 What need of stripe or sorrow ? All men Thine, 
 
 To do with as Thou wilt from crib to grave.' 
 
 So he, again pursuing danger thought, 
 
 The while the bird melodious jubilance 
 
 Lift up to heaven. Now strangely, deeply moved, 
 
 All of a moment through his earnest soul 
 
 The thought flashed, 'I will trust Him though He slay.' 
 
 Almost beyond his purpose or his will 
 
 The thought had birth ; but birthed, it thrilled him 
 
 through 
 And through beyond all telling. 
 
 To his lips 
 
 The words welled up, then faltering died, as died 
 The feathered song, a footstep falling nigh. 
 Now rose the shaggy hound, and lazy shook 
 His tawny hide, but not as waked to wrath, 
 For, whining low, he left the soldier's side 
 To greet more proved acquaintance. Down the knoll, 
 The devious path forsaken, came a maid 
 Faultlessly fair, as fabled she that won 
 The slighted Goddess' discord gift. Adown 
 Her snow-white bodice fell her raven hair, 
 Glossy as jet. Her rounded cheek the sun 
 Had kissed to summer ripeness, while her lips 
 Aparted, as with eager upturned gaze 
 She list the linnet's song, were red as hip 
 That, touched of Autumn's vermeil fingers, fires 
 The hedgerow. Parted thus, their ivory store 
 
Rahere. 257 
 
 Were plain to view, contented prisoners 
 To such rare gaoler mistress. Lithe her form, 
 And supple as the willow herb in wind, 
 With dainty feet that out her woodland dress 
 Stood fearless on the sward. As brought again 
 To earth from music's nearer heav'n at whine 
 Of welcoming hound, she stayed her in surprise. 
 
 Sir Edward hasty rose. She showed no fear, 
 But queenly stood ; but he, he trembling gazed 
 Wide-eyed, and all his oft-proved bravery gone. 
 ' Rahere !' he faltered, then again, ' Rahere !' 
 While in his look dread strove with love, and all 
 The fibres of his manhood were unstrung. 
 
 But at the name the maiden's face grew sad ; 
 Her eyes, like crystal founts, welled o'er with tears, 
 While tremor after tremor shook her form. 
 ' Rahere !' she softly murmured, then more loud, 
 But still with trembling accent : ' Sir, you name 
 One long since dead my sister !' Here distress 
 Sometime imprisoned speech. 
 
 He now, assured 
 
 To find the maid no spirit as at first 
 He deemed, came forward : ' Lady, ot a truth, 
 I took you for unearthly visitant, 
 Yet not unwelcome shade of noble maid, 
 Short known, quick lost, but loved with loyal love 
 Through years of exile, danger, and distress ! 
 She had a sister, fondly loved, of whom 
 
 17 
 
258 Rahere. 
 
 She spake me often. You are surely she 
 So like herself, my heart 'twixt fear and love 
 Leapt up tumultuous, greeting, fearing still.' 
 
 Now smiled the maiden through her tears, her hand 
 
 Stretched forth in fearless innocence, and locked 
 
 Fast in his swarthier palm. ' I am Cecile,' 
 
 She answered ; then more hastily, ' and you 
 
 Sir Edward Hewett ! All the tale is writ 
 
 For ever in my heart. You loved Rahere 
 
 Forgive me, I do never speak the name 
 
 But needs must weep you loved her, and for love 
 
 Of her, so cruel snatched away of Death, 
 
 Did guardian me, her sister, sisterless 
 
 A child you ne'er had known ! 'Twas but of late 
 
 I knew my benefactor ! This mid-day 
 
 I heard the bells at Hadleigh, and was told 
 
 Sir Edward had returned. Ah me ! how oft 
 
 At night your name has mingled with the names 
 
 I lay before the orphans' God and Friend, 
 
 With prayer for safe return and happiness ! 
 
 Will you not take again the gold you left 
 
 In trust for me ? I would have sent it o'er 
 
 The seas, but could not, being child. But now 
 
 Take back your gift. My uncle yester-eve 
 
 Said you were poor, Sir Giles unlike to yield 
 
 Your heritage save only at the cost 
 
 Of weary suit. 'Twill help you to your own, 
 
 Be sure, as giv'n of Godlike charity 
 
 To helpless child, more surely than the wealth 
 
 Of Croesus were it ready laid to hand.' 
 
Rahere. 259 
 
 Surprised he heard, then gravely spake her back : 
 ' 'Tis writ that " they that sow in tears shall reap 
 In joy," and so I prove it. Yet, sweet child, 
 Believe me, I have never need of gold. 
 I am not poor ; have wealth enough to buy 
 Twice over and to spare mine own again. 
 Yet o'er and o'er I thank you. You do show 
 In truth your sister's sister. So am I 
 A thousandfold repaid for deed forgot !' 
 
 The farms adjoined. Without the wood a path 
 
 O'er meadow-croft and cornland took Cecile, 
 
 He by her side to eager questioning 
 
 As eagerly replying, stile and gap 
 
 Made easy by sustent of manly hand. 
 
 She home, he made to turn him back again, 
 
 But stayed, her hand laid quick upon his arm. 
 
 ' Nay, be our guest a little while,' she said, 
 
 With sweet entreaty. ' Uncle is within. 
 
 I have so much to say of gratitude, 
 
 That he will better say ; but could you read 
 
 My heart, no tongue were half so eloquent !' 
 
 She, reading in his eyes ungrudged assent, 
 Went joyous, hasty in, with sparkling eyes, 
 To bear the news. Soon came the farmer out 
 With dame and maids obsequious. Honoured guest 
 That night he lay beneath the homestead eaves, 
 A message sent in haste across the fields. 
 But first, Othello-like, of war and 'scape 
 Spell-bound his hearers. She, Cecile, on whom 
 
260 Rahere. 
 
 His eye delighted dwelled continual, sat 
 
 A little way removed, her royal head 
 
 Laid close against the good-wife's matron breast. 
 
 But oft her eyes would seek the soldier's face, 
 
 And aye encountering smiling gaze, revealed, 
 
 Sweet innocent, in answering smile, the love 
 
 Waking within her. 
 
 He the ache of years 
 Felt lessen every instant. She so like 
 The cherished image of his thought, the Past 
 In presence of her beauty grew to dream ; 
 While in her smile the sorrow-cloud, so long 
 Enshrouding in its fold his nobler self, 
 Melted apace, as melts the ghostly mist 
 That haunts the chalkland after summer rain, 
 In fire of living sunbeam chasing storm. 
 
 III. 
 
 The hidden gold regained, Sir Edward soon, 
 On miser terms, his own acquired again. 
 Came Yuletide round, and all the countryside 
 Flocked to the wide-thrown hall, while loud the bells 
 Gave forth their brazen melody, nor knew 
 Repose till night forbade their noisy joy. 
 
 Fair was the tide, the red sun's level beams 
 Soothing the rigorous air, whose fang of late 
 Had prisoned brook and lake. The hedgedrift snow 
 Shone in the radiance, while each frosted bough 
 
Rahere. 261 
 
 And branch gleamed faery white, or, breeze-touched, 
 
 shook 
 From time to time their glistering burthen down. 
 
 Loud rang the bells, but ne'er for lovelier maid 
 Than she who plighted bridal troth to-day ! 
 Bright shone the sun, but ne'er on sweeter face 
 Than hers who, now led blushing to her place 
 Beside her morn-made groom, ordained the feast 
 Begin with all its merriment and cheer. 
 True dame henceforth of loyal lord whose heart, 
 Of suffering tuned to sympathy with pain, 
 Knew never joy like that which, Godlike, brings 
 Relief to him that needs sat now Cecile, 
 Sweet cynosure of all. 
 
 A little while, 
 
 And one uprose. 'Twas Gould, most honoured guest, 
 And, cup in hand, bade silence while he gave 
 A toast all hearts repeated. ' Drink we now 
 His honour and his lady !' 
 
 Rang the hall 
 
 With tenant tumult, while the worthier came 
 To kiss the little hand that, trembling, first 
 Was lifted up to lips of smiling spouse. 
 Then spake she softly : ' You that know my heart 
 As I, or better, Edward, husband, speak 
 These, and for me, as I would speak them could 
 But simple tongue reveal o'ercharged heart.' 
 
 This did he, facund made of gratitude 
 
 For evil haply past, and love of her 
 
 That breathless hung entranced upon his lips. 
 
262 Rahere. 
 
 ' Yet one thing more,' he said, his speech to end, 
 
 And out his bridal vest drew slowly forth 
 
 The schedule of his people's debtedness 
 
 As writ by Gilbert. This in sight of all 
 
 He cast upon the flames that lapped the log 
 
 The jolly Yule-log bickering on the hearth 
 
 And calmly watched it burn itself away. 
 
 ' Though done with mine, the deed was his the more 
 
 Who, faithful ever, stood for me, although 
 
 The sea between us rolled, and love alone 
 
 O'er-bridged the gulf with plank of tender hope 
 
 Denied, alas ! that day as this might glad 
 
 His aged eyes before he sank to sleep ! 
 
 Repay him, then, as he would be repaid, 
 
 Did he but live to speak it, friends, by love 
 
 Of her this day, bride blushing in your midst, 
 
 Your lady and mine own, Cecile, my wife !' 
 
 Then shouted they again, till all the hall 
 Shook with their shouting, roof and corridor 
 Reverberant with honest English cheer. 
 She meanwhile, happy maid, her lovelit eyes 
 Lift lustrous to her lord's, whose ardent gaze 
 Scarce dared she to sustain, yet, brave of love, 
 Met and returned, while into his her hand 
 Slid trustful. Thus she stood before her folk 
 The noblest, fairest, dearest, in the land. 
 
 THE END. 
 Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London. 
 
JAN 2 7 198S 
 
 
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