English Narrative Poems Part 20

"And English cliffs are not more white Than her women are, and scarce so light 230 Her skies as their eyes are blue and bright;

"And in some port that he reached from France The Prince has lingered for his pleasaunce."[285]

But once the King asked: "What distant cry Was that we heard 'twixt the sea and sky?" 235

And one said: "With suchlike shouts, pardie[286]

Do the fishers fling their nets at sea."

And one: "Who knows not the shrieking quest When the sea-mew misses its young from its nest?"

'Twas thus till now they had soothed his dread 240 Albeit they knew not what they said:

But who should speak to-day of the thing That all knew there except the King?

Then pondering much they found a way, And met round the King's high seat that day. 245

And the King sat with a heart sore stirred, And seldom he spoke and seldom heard.

'Twas then through the hall the King was 'ware Of a little boy with golden hair,

As bright as the golden poppy is 250 That the beach breeds for the surf to kiss:

Yet pale his cheek as the thorn in Spring, And his garb black like the raven's wing.

Nothing heard but his foot through the hall, For now the lords were silent all. 255

And the King wondered, and said, "Alack!

Who sends me a fair boy dressed in black?

"Why, sweet heart, do you pace through the hall As though my court were a funeral?"

Then lowly knelt the child at the dais,[287] 260 And looked up weeping in the King's face.

"O wherefore black, O King, ye may say, For white is the hue of death to-day.

"Your son and all his fellows.h.i.+p Lie low in the sea with the White s.h.i.+p." 265

King Henry fell as a man struck dead; And speechless still he stared from his bed When to him next day my rede[288] I read.

There's many an hour must needs beguile A King's high heart that he should smile,-- 270

Full many a lordly hour, full fain Of his realm's rule and pride of his reign:--

But this King never smiled again.

By none but me can the tale be told, The butcher of Rouen, poor Berold. 275 (_Lands are swayed by a king on a throne._) 'Twas a royal train put forth to sea, Yet the tale can be told by none but me.

(_The sea hath no king but G.o.d alone._)

WILLIAM MORRIS

ATALANTA'S RACE

ARGUMENT

Atalanta, daughter of King Schoeneus, not willing to lose her virgin's estate, made it a law to all suitors that they should run a race with her in the public place, and if they failed to overcome her should die unrevenged; and thus many brave men perished. At last came Milanion, the son of Amphidamas, who, outrunning her with the help of Venus, gained the virgin and wedded her.

Through thick Arcadian[289] woods a hunter went, Following the beasts up, on a fresh spring day; But since his horn-tipped bow, but seldom bent, Now at the noon-tide naught had happed to slay, Within a vale he called his hounds away, 5 Hearkening the echoes of his lone voice cling About the cliffs and through the beech-trees ring.

But when they ended, still awhile he stood, And but the sweet familiar thrush could hear, And all the day-long noises of the wood, 10 And o'er the dry leaves of the vanished year His hounds' feet pattering as they drew anear, And heavy breathing from their heads low hung, To see the mighty cornel[290] bow unstrung.

Then smiling did he turn to leave the place, 15 But with his first step some new fleeting thought A shadow cast across his sunburnt face; I think the golden net that April brought From some warm world his wavering soul had caught; For, sunk in vague sweet longing, did he go 20 Betwixt the trees with doubtful steps and slow.

Yet howsoever slow he went, at last The trees grew spa.r.s.er, and the wood was done; Whereon one farewell, backward look he cast, Then, turning round to see what place was won, 25 With shaded eyes looked underneath the sun, And o'er green meads and new-turned furrows brown Beheld the gleaming of King Schoeneus'[291] town.

So thitherward he turned, and on each side The folk were busy on the teeming land, 30 And man and maid from the brown furrows cried, Or midst the newly blossomed vines did stand, And as the rustic weapon pressed the hand Thought of the nodding of the well-filled ear, Or how the knife the heavy bunch should shear. 35

Merry it was: about him sung the birds, The spring flowers bloomed along the firm dry road, The sleek-skinned mothers of the sharp-horned herds Now for the barefoot milking-maidens lowed; While from the freshness of his blue abode, 40 Glad his death-bearing arrows to forget, The broad sun blazed, nor scattered plagues as yet.

Through such fair things unto the gates he came, And found them open, as though peace were there; Wherethrough, unquestioned of his race or name, 45 He entered, and along the streets 'gan fare, Which at the first of folk were wellnigh bare; But pressing on, and going more hastily, Men hurrying too he 'gan at last to see.

Following the last of these, he still pressed on, 50 Until an open s.p.a.ce he came unto, Where wreaths of fame had oft been lost and won, For feats of strength folk there were wont to do.

And now our hunter looked for something new, Because the whole wide s.p.a.ce was bare, and stilled 55 The high seats were, with eager people filled.

There with the others to a seat he gat, Whence he beheld a broidered canopy, 'Neath which in fair array King Schoeneus sat Upon his throne with councillors thereby; 60 And underneath this well-wrought seat and high, He saw a golden image of the sun,[292]

A silver image of the Fleet-foot One.[293]

A brazen altar stood beneath their feet Whereon a thin flame flickered in the wind; 65 Nigh this a herald clad in raiment meet Made ready even now his horn to wind, By whom a huge man held a sword, intwined With yellow flowers; these stood a little s.p.a.ce From off the altar, nigh the starting-place. 70

And there two runners did the sign abide Foot set to foot,--a young man slim and fair, Crisp-haired, well-knit, with firm limbs often tried In places where no man his strength may spare; Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair 75 A golden circlet of renown he wore, And in his hand an olive garland bore.

But on this day with whom shall he contend?

A maid stood by him like Diana[294] clad When in the woods she lists[295] her bow to bend, 80 Too fair for one to look on and be glad, Who scarcely yet has thirty summer's had, If he must still behold her from afar; Too fair to let the world live free from war.

She seemed all earthly matters to forget; 85 Of all tormenting lines her face was clear, Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near, But her foe trembled as a man in fear; Nor from her loveliness one moment turned 90 His anxious face with fierce desire that burned.

Now through the hush there broke the trumpet's clang Just as the setting sun made eventide.

Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang, And swiftly were they running side by side; 95 But silent did the thronging folk abide Until the turning-post was reached at last, And round about it still abreast they pa.s.sed.

But when the people saw how close they ran, When half-way to the starting-point they were, 100 A cry of joy broke forth, whereat the man Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near Unto the very end of all his fear; And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel, And bliss unhoped for o'er his heart 'gan steal. 105

But midst the loud victorious shouts he heard Her footsteps drawing nearer, and the sound Of fluttering raiment, and thereat afeard His flushed and eager face he turned around, And even then he felt her past him bound 110 Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair.

There stood she breathing like a little child Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep, For no victorious joy her red lips smiled; 115 Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep, Though some divine thought softened all her face As once more rang the trumpet through the place.