The Deluge and Other Poems Part 8

"Being in haste to return to my land, I pa.s.sed in this disguise, For I would not stay the rich display Your ducal bounty supplies."

Leopold snarled like an angry wolf.

"How came you hither?" said he; "No choice of mine, but by rule divine,"

--Said Richard--"I came by sea,

"Travelling in haste from Palestine To a.s.sure me England's throne; But a storm arose, and my fears suppose That I was saved alone."

"Now bind his hands," cried Leopold, "For he comes as a spy, I see."

The King's eyes blazed in wrath amazed, "A ducal greeting," quoth he.

"These bonds are unfitting, Duke Leopold, Both mine and your degree, Nor consorts my fame with a spying name, In your throat let your own words be."

Amazed were they all at Richard's taunts, But he smiled with easy pride.

"Now what prevents that my fury vents Itself?" the Austrian cried.

"Now what prevents that I kill you straight And your corpse to the ravens fling?

'Twere easy to say you were ocean's prey."

"But you dare not," said Richard the King.

Leopold turned to his feudal lords, Who stood in wondering; "Now prison me straight this runagate,"

Said he, "let us lodge this King!"

They have taken Richard the Lion-heart And fettered him fast and sure, In a narrow cell they have chained him well With chains that shall endure.

And even Richard's stout heart fails When he hears the great doors clang, And he knows at last that they have him fast, Whose fame through Europe rang.

"Oh, what prevents the crafty Duke From poison or secret knife, For no one knows that Richard goes In disguise, in fear of his life;

"My brother John will well believe That I was drowned at sea; Nay, he scarce will ask, but will take the task Of kings.h.i.+p gleefully;

"And my people will easily forget Their monarch so little seen, And almost my name will be lost to fame, I shall be as I ne'er had been."

Many a weary week and month Must darken prison walls; And the King's eye dims, and his mighty limbs Waste, as the leaf that falls.

And his face is blanched, and sorrow sits Carven upon his brow, And his right arm slacks for the battle-axe, The warlike field to plough.

And yet and anon comes Leopold His captive lord to see, And revenge to taste, as he sees him waste, "How fares the Lion?" cries he.

"Cousinly questioned," says the King, And kingly flashes his eye; "Let the hog beware of the lion's lair, Though the lion couchant lie."

And then gives back Duke Leopold, And his laugh has a hollow ring; Once more he goes, and the shadows close Round the head and the heart of the King.

Then word comes suddenly, flying fast, "Masters, the King is found!"

And from distant lands the poet stands At last upon English ground.

"I have found him, Blondel de Nesle!

As I wandered, harp in hand, Through breadth and length of Austria's strength, I saw a tower stand,

"And nearer drew, I knew not why, Till I heard a man's voice sing With something of skill, and my heart stood still-- 'Twas the voice of Richard the King,

"Singing a fitte that we both had made Once in a banquet hall, When his heart was light, of a captive knight Who out upon Fate did call.

"Then I took up King Richard's words And sang the fitte again, And did descry--Oh! hope was high!--- That he of it was fain.

"So I struck my harp and sang once more Of a minstrel wandering far, Till he reached the strand of a distant land Where trusty yeomen are,

"Where hearts will swell with joy to hear Of their dear and distant King, And burn for shame of his knightly fame And the false imprisoning----

"And Richard sang from his mighty throat 'Oh Blondel, blessed be thou, Thy star of birth makes glad the earth, Thy wit shall save me now.

"'Oh tell my people that I am woe For my absence long and drear, When the land did bleed under wolfish greed And the shepherd was not near.'"

(Sullen and black was the brow of John Like an angry thunder-cloud, But the poet recked not in his respect, His message spake aloud.)

"'And tell my people Richard sends His heart in the minstrel's hand, And my eyes shall yearn until they turn On the cliffs of my loyal land.

"'And this do I add at night and morn, When I pray for the fall of Zion: To my people send a better friend, Oh G.o.d, than Richard the Lion!'"

IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

What can death render us commensurate With what it takes away; the voice of birds On sweet spring mornings, and the face of spring; And lush long gra.s.s around the browsing herds; And shadows on the distant hills the flying rain-clouds fling?

What is there brighter in the world to come Than white-winged sea-gulls, flas.h.i.+ng in the sun Above the blue Atlantic; what more free, Yet what more stable, than those white wings, strung All motionless, against a wind that whips the racing sea?

Yea, and if these things yet may be the soul's-- The summer moon above the garden flowers Dew-drenched, and the slow song of nightingales-- Yea, and if all these after death be ours, More beauty yet, and peace from strife, yet still the debt prevails.

For what can ever give us back again The dear, familiar things of every day; The loved and common language that we share; The trivial pleasures; and, when children play, Their laughter, and the touch of hands; and jests; and common care?

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MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS