The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning Volume II Part 4

_THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE._

I.

A knight of gallant deeds And a young page at his side, From the holy war in Palestine Did slow and thoughtful ride, As each were a palmer and told for beads The dews of the eventide.

II.

"O young page," said the knight, "A n.o.ble page art thou!

Thou fearest not to steep in blood The curls upon thy brow; And once in the tent, and twice in the fight, Didst ward me a mortal blow."

III.

"O brave knight," said the page, "Or ere we hither came, We talked in tent, we talked in field, Of the b.l.o.o.d.y battle-game; But here, below this greenwood bough, I cannot speak the same.

IV.

"Our troop is far behind, The woodland calm is new; Our steeds, with slow gra.s.s-m.u.f.fled hoofs, Tread deep the shadows through; And, in my mind, some blessing kind Is dropping with the dew.

V.

"The woodland calm is pure-- I cannot choose but have A thought from these, o' the beechen-trees, Which in our England wave, And of the little finches fine Which sang there while in Palestine The warrior-hilt we drave.

VI.

"Methinks, a moment gone, I heard my mother pray!

I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me Wherein she pa.s.sed away; And I know the heavens are leaning down To hear what I shall say."

VII.

The page spake calm and high, As of no mean degree; Perhaps he felt in nature's broad Full heart, his own was free: And the knight looked up to his lifted eye, Then answered smilingly--

VIII.

"Sir page, I pray your grace!

Certes, I meant not so To cross your pastoral mood, sir page, With the crook of the battle-bow; But a knight may speak of a lady's face, I ween, in any mood or place, If the gra.s.ses die or grow.

IX.

"And this I meant to say-- My lady's face shall s.h.i.+ne As ladies' faces use, to greet My page from Palestine; Or, speak she fair or prank she gay, She is no lady of mine.

X.

"And this I meant to fear-- Her bower may suit thee ill; For, sooth, in that same field and tent, Thy _talk_ was somewhat still: And fitter thy hand for my knightly spear Than thy tongue for my lady's will!"

XI.

Slowly and thankfully The young page bowed his head; His large eyes seemed to muse a smile, Until he blushed instead, And no lady in her bower, pardie, Could blush more sudden red: "Sir Knight,--thy lady's bower to me Is suited well," he said.

XII.

_Beati, beati, mortui!_ From the convent on the sea, One mile off, or scarce so nigh, Swells the dirge as clear and high As if that, over brake and lea, Bodily the wind did carry The great altar of Saint Mary, And the fifty tapers burning o'er it, And the lady Abbess dead before it, And the chanting nuns whom yesterweek Her voice did charge and bless,-- Chanting steady, chanting meek, Chanting with a solemn breath, Because that they are thinking less Upon the dead than upon death.

_Beati, beati, mortui!_ Now the vision in the sound Wheeleth on the wind around; Now it sweepeth back, away-- The uplands will not let it stay To dark the western sun: _Mortui!_--away at last,-- Or ere the page's blush is past!

And the knight heard all, and the page heard none.

XIII.

"A boon, thou n.o.ble knight, If ever I served thee!

Though thou art a knight and I am a page, Now grant a boon to me; And tell me sooth, if dark or bright, If little loved or loved aright Be the face of thy ladye."

XIV.

Gloomily looked the knight-- "As a son thou hast served me, And would to none I had granted boon Except to only thee!

For haply then I should love aright, For then I should know if dark or bright Were the face of my ladye.

XV.

"Yet it ill suits my knightly tongue To grudge that granted boon, That heavy price from heart and life I paid in silence down; The hand that claimed it, cleared in fine My father's fame: I swear by mine, That price was n.o.bly won!

XVI.

"Earl Walter was a brave old earl, He was my father's friend, And while I rode the lists at court And little guessed the end, My n.o.ble father in his shroud Against a slanderer lying loud, He rose up to defend.

XVII.

"Oh, calm below the marble grey My father's dust was strown!

Oh, meek above the marble grey His image prayed alone!

The slanderer lied: the wretch was brave-- For, looking up the minster-nave, He saw my father's knightly glaive Was changed from steel to stone.

XVIII.

"Earl Walter's glaive was steel, With a brave old hand to wear it, And dashed the lie back in the mouth Which lied against the G.o.dly truth And against the knightly merit The slanderer, 'neath the avenger's heel, Struck up the dagger in appeal From stealthy lie to brutal force-- And out upon the traitor's corse Was yielded the true spirit.

XIX.

"I would mine hand had fought that fight And justified my father!

I would mine heart had caught that wound And slept beside him rather!

I think it were a better thing Than murdered friend and marriage-ring Forced on my life together.

XX.

"Wail shook Earl Walter's house; His true wife shed no tear; She lay upon her bed as mute As the earl did on his bier: Till--'Ride, ride fast,' she said at last, 'And bring the avenged's son anear!

Ride fast, ride free, as a dart can flee, For white of blee with waiting for me Is the corse in the next chambere.'

XXI.

"I came, I knelt beside her bed; Her calm was worse than strife: 'My husband, for thy father dear, Gave freely when thou wast not here His own and eke my life.

A boon! Of that sweet child we make An orphan for thy father's sake, Make thou, for ours, a wife.'