Whatever happens: yet I think They could not make me eat or drink, And so should I just reach my rest." "Nay, if you do not my behest, O Jehane! though I love you well," Said Godmar, "would I fail to tell All that I know." "Foul lies," she said. "Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head, At Paris folks would deem them true! Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you, 'Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown! Give us Jehane to burn or drown!'— Eh—gag me, Robert!—sweet my friend, This were indeed a piteous end For those long fingers, and long feet, And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet; An end that few men would forget That saw it—So, an hour yet: Consider, Jehane, which to take Of life or death!" So, scarce awake Dismounting, did she leave that place, And totter some yards: with her face Turn'd upward to the sky she lay, Her head on a wet heap of hay, And fell asleep: and while she slept, And did not dream, the minutes crept Round to the twelve again; but she, Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly, And strangely childlike came, and said: "I will not." Straightway Godmar's head, As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd Most sharply round, and his face burn'd. For Robert—both his eyes were dry, He could not weep but gloomily He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too, His lips were firm; he tried once more To touch her lips; she reach'd out, sore And vain desire so tortured them, The poor grey lips, and now the hem Of his sleeve brush'd them. With a start Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart; From Robert's throat he loosed the bands Of silk and mail; with empty hands Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw, The long bright blade without a flaw Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand In Robert's hair; she saw him bend Back Robert's head; she saw him send The thin steel down; the blow told well, Right backward the knight Robert fell, And moan'd as dogs do, being half dead, Unwitting, as I deem: so then Godmar turn'd grinning to his men, Who ran, some five or six, and beat His head to pieces at their feet. Then Godmar turn'd again and said: "So, Jehane, the first fitte is read! Take note, my lady, that your way Lies backward to the Chatelet!" She shook her head and gazed awhile At her cold hands with a rueful smile, As though this thing had made her mad. This was the parting that they had Beside the haystack in the floods.
RIDING TOGETHER.
For many, many days together The wind blew steady from the East; For many days hot grew the weather, About the time of our Lady's Feast. For many days we rode together, Yet met we neither friend nor foe; Hotter and clearer grew the weather, Steadily did the East wind blow. We saw the trees in the hot, bright weather, Clear-cut, with shadows very black, As freely we rode on together With helms unlaced and bridles slack. And often as we rode together, We, looking down the green-bank'd stream, Saw flowers in the sunny weather, And saw the bubble-making bream. And in the night lay down together, And hung above our heads the rood, Or watch'd night-long in the dewy weather, The while the moon did watch the wood. Our spears stood bright and thick together, Straight out the banners stream'd behind, As we gallop'd on in the sunny weather, With faces turn'd towards the wind. Down sank our threescore spears together, As thick we saw the Pagans ride; His eager face in the clear fresh weather, Shone out that last time by my side. Up the sweep of the bridge we dash'd together, It rock'd to the crash of the meeting spears, Down rain'd the buds of the dear spring weather, The elm-tree flowers fell like tears. There, as we roll'd and writhed together, I threw my arms above my head, For close by my side, in the lovely weather, I saw him reel and fall back dead. I and the slayer met together, He waited the death-stroke there in his place, With thoughts of death, in the lovely weather, Gapingly mazed at my madden'd face. Madly I fought as we fought together; In vain: the little Christian band The pagans drowned, as in stormy weather, The river drowns low-lying land. They bound my blood-stain'd hands together, They bound his corpse to nod by my side: Then on we rode, in the bright-March weather, With clash of cymbals did we ride. We ride no more, no more together; My prison-bars are thick and strong, I take no heed of any weather, The sweet Saints grant I live not long.
SUMMER DAWN.
Pray but one prayer for me 'twixt thy closed lips, Think but one thought of me up in the stars. The summer night waneth, the morning light slips, Faint and grey 'twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars, That are patiently waiting there for the dawn: Patient and colourless, though Heaven's gold Waits to float through them along with the sun. Far out in the meadows, above the young corn, The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun; Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn, Round the lone house in the midst of the corn. Speak but one word to me over the corn, Over the tender, bow'd locks of the corn.
FROM
"THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JASON."
BOOK XIV.
The Sirens—The Garden of the Hesperides—The Heroes do Sacrifice at Malea.
Across the open sea they drew their wake For three long days, and when the fourth 'gan break Their eyes beheld the fair Trinacrian shore, And there-along they coasted two days more. Then first Medea warned them to take heed, Lest they should end all memory of their deed Where dwell the Sirens on the yellow sand, And folk should think some tangled poisonous land Had buried them, or some tumultuous sea O'er their white bones was tossing angrily; Or that some muddy river, far from Greece, Drove seaward o'er the ringlets of the Fleece. But when the Minyæ hearkened to this word, With many a thought their wearied hearts were stirred, And longing for the near-gained Grecian land, Where in a little while their feet should stand; Yet none the less like to a happy dream, Now, when they neared it, did their own home seem, And like a dream the glory of their quest, And therewithal some thought of present rest Stole over them, and they were fain to sigh, Hearkening the sighing restless wind go by. But hard on even of the second day, As o'er the gentle waves they took their way, The orange-scented land-breeze seemed to bear Some other sounds unto the listening ear Than all day long they had been hearkening, The land-born signs of many a well-known thing. Thereat Medea trembled, for she knew That nigh the dreadful sands at last they drew, For certainly the Sirens' song she heard, Though yet her ear could shape it to no word, And by their faces could the queen behold How sweet it was, although no tale it told, To those worn toilers o'er the bitter sea. Now, as they sped along, they presently, Rounding a headland, reached a little bay Walled from the sea by splintered cliffs and grey, Capped by the thymy hills' green wind-beat head, Where 'mid the whin the burrowing rabbits fed. And 'neath the cliff they saw a belt of sand, 'Twixt Nereus' pasture and the high scarped land, Whereon, yet far off, could their eyes behold White bodies moving, crowned and girt with gold, Wherefrom it seemed that lovely music welled. So when all this the grey-eyed queen beheld, She said: "O Jason, I have made thee wise In this and other things; turn then thine eyes Seaward, and note the ripple of the sea, Where there is hope as well as fear for thee. Nor look upon the death that lurketh there 'Neath the grey cliff, though sweet it seems and fair; For thou art young upon this day to die. Take then the helm, and gazing steadily Upon the road to Greece, make strong thine hand, And steer us toward the lion-haunted land, And thou, O Thracian! if thou e'er hast moved Men's hearts with stories of the Gods who loved, And men who suffered, move them on this day, Taking the deadly love of death away, That even now is stealing over them, While still they gaze upon the ocean's hem, Where their undoing is if they but knew."