Poems By the Way Part 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scarce did we hear his latest word, On the wide s.h.i.+eld so rang the sword.

So rang the sword upon the s.h.i.+eld That the lark was hushed above the field.

Then sank the shouts and again we heard The old voice come from the h.o.a.ry beard:

"Yea, whose are yonder gables then, And whose the holy hearths of men?

Whose are the prattling children there, And whose the sunburnt maids and fair?

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

As glitters the sun in the rain-washed gra.s.s, So in the tossing swords it was;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did they hold out hands his gyves to bear?

Did their knees his high hall's pavement wear?

Is his house built up in heaven aloft?

Doth he make the sun rise oft and oft?

Doth he hold the rain in his hollow hand?

Hath he cleft this water through the land?

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

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

O children, if his name I know, He hight Earl Hugh of the s.h.i.+vering Low:

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

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

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

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

But now by the h.o.a.ry elder stood A carle in raiment red as blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yea when we come to the open field There shall be a many under s.h.i.+eld.

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

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

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

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