Standard Selections Part 10

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Appareled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and squire, On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat, And heard the priests chant the Magnificat, And as he listened, o'er and o'er again Repeated, like a burden or refrain, He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes De sede et exultavit humiles;"

And slowly lifting up his kingly head, He to the learned clerk beside him said, "What mean those words?" The clerk made answer meet, "He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree."

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, "'Tis well that such seditious words are sung Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; For unto priests and people be it known, There is no power can push me from my throne!"

And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, Lulled by the chant, monotonous and deep.

When he awoke it was already night; The church was empty, and there was no light, Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint, Lighted a little s.p.a.ce before some saint.

He started from his seat and gazed around, But saw no living thing and heard no sound.

He groped toward the door, but it was locked; He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, And imprecations upon men and saints.

The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.

At length the s.e.xton hearing from without The tumult of the knocking and the shout, And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, Came with his lantern asking, "Who is there?"

Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, "Open: 'Tis I, the King! Art thou afraid?"

The frightened s.e.xton muttering with a curse, "This is some drunken vagabond or worse!"

Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; A man rushed by him at a single stride, Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, But leaped into the blackness of the night, And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Despoiled of his magnificent attire, Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage To right and left each seneschal and page, And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, His white face ghastly in the torches' glare.

From hall to hall he rushed in breathless speed, Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, Until at last he reached the banquet room, Blazing with light and breathing with perfume.

There on the dais sat another king, Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet ring, King Robert's self in feature, form and height, But all transfigured with angelic light.

It was an Angel; and his presence there With a divine effulgence filled the air, An exaltation piercing the disguise, Though none the hidden Angel recognize.

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed, Who met his look of anger and surprise With the divine compa.s.sion of his eyes; Then said, "Who art thou, and why comest thou here?"

To which King Robert answered with a sneer, "I am the King, and come to claim my own From an imposter, who usurps my throne!"

And suddenly, at these audacious words, Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords!

The Angel answered with unruffled brow, "Nay, not the king, but the king's Jester, thou Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, And for thy counselor shalt lead an ape; Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!"

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; A group of t.i.ttering pages ran before, And as they opened wide the folding doors, His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring With the mock plaudits of "Long live the King!"

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, He said within himself, "It was a dream!"

But the straw rustled as he turned his head, There were the cap and bells beside his bed, Around him rose the bare discolored walls, Close by the steeds were champing in their stalls, And in the corner, a revolting shape, s.h.i.+vering and chattering sat the wretched ape.

It was no dream; the world he loved so much Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch!

Days came and went; and now returned again To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; Under the Angel's governance benign The happy island danced with corn and wine, And deep within the mountain's burning breast Enceladus, the giant, was at rest.

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, Sullen and silent and disconsolate, Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, With look bewildered and a vacant stare, Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn, By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, His only friend the ape, his only food What others left,--he still was unsubdued.

And when the Angel met him on his way, And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel, The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, "Art thou the King?" the pa.s.sion of his woe, Burst from him in resistless overflow, And, lifting high his forehead he would fling The haughty answer back, "I am, I am, the King!"

Almost three years were ended, when there came Amba.s.sadors of great repute and fame From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane By letter summoned them forthwith to come On Holy Thursday to his City of Rome.

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's Square, Giving his benediction and embrace, Fervent, and full of apostolic grace.

While with congratulations and with prayers He entertained the Angel unawares.

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, "I am the King! Look and behold in me Robert, your brother, King of Sicily!

This man who wears my semblance in your eyes, Is an imposter in a king's disguise.

Do you not know me? Does no voice within Answer my cry, and say we are akin?"

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene; The Emperor, laughing said, "It is strange sport To keep a madman for thy fool at court!"

And the poor baffled Jester in disgrace Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; The presence of the Angel, with its light, Before the sun rose, made the city bright, And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.

Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, He felt within a power unfelt before, And, kneeling humbly on the chamber floor, He heard the rus.h.i.+ng garments of the Lord Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.

And now the visit ending, and once more Valmond returning to the Danube's sh.o.r.e, Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again The land was made resplendent with his train, Flas.h.i.+ng along the towns of Italy Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.

And when once more within Palermo's wall, And, seated on the throne in his great hall, He heard the Angelus from convent towers, As if a better world conversed with ours, He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, And with a gesture bade the rest retire; And when they were alone, the Angel said, "Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head, King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!

My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, And in some cloister's school of penitence, Across those stones that pave the way to heaven, Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven!"

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face A holy light illumined all the place, And through the open window, loud and clear, They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, Above the noise and tumult of the street: "He has put down the mighty from their seat, And has exalted them of low degree!"

And through the chant a second melody Rose like the throbbing of a single string: "I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!

But all appareled as in days of old, With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold, And when his courtiers came, they found him there Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.

FOOTNOTE:

[8] Used by permission of, and special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., authorized publishers of his works.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

PART I

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there below, The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and s.h.i.+ver Thro' the wave that runs forever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a s.p.a.ce of flowers, And the silent isle embowers The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil'd Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot.

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the cas.e.m.e.nt seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the moon the reaper weary Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott."

PART II

There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she, The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the world appear, There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of market girls, Pa.s.s onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot; And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.