Poems by Adam Lindsay Gordon Part 38

Orion: 'Tis not our business; what can we do?

They are too many, and we are too few; And yet, I suppose, you will save, if you can, That lady, your ward, or your kinswoman.

Hugo: She is no kinswoman of mine; How far is Otto's camp from the Rhine?

Orion: Too far for help in such time of need To be brought, though you used your utmost speed.

Eric: Nay, that I doubt.

Hugo: And how many men Have they?

Orion: To your one they could muster ten.

Eric: I know Count Rudolph, and terms may be made With him, I fancy; for though his trade Is a rough one now, gainsay it who can, He was once a knight and a gentleman.

And Dagobert, the chief of the Huns, Bad as he is, will spare the nuns; Though neither he nor the Count could check Those lawless men, should they storm and sack The convent. Jarl Osric, too, I know; He is rather a formidable foe, And will likely enough be troublesome; But the others, I trust, to terms will come.

Hugo: Eric, how many men have you?

I can count a score.

Eric: I have only two.

Hugo: At every hazard we must try to save The nuns.

Eric: Count Rudolph shall think we have A force that almost equals his own, If I can confer with him alone.

Orion: He is close at hand; by this time he waits The Abbot's reply at the convent gates.

Hugo: We had better send him a herald.

Eric: Nay, I will go myself. [Eric goes out.]

Hugo: Orion, stay!

So this is the reed on which I've leaned, These are the hopes thou hast fostered, these The flames thou hast fanned. Oh, lying fiend!

Is it thus thou dost keep thy promises?

Orion: Strong language, Hugo, and most unjust; You will cry out before you are hurt-- You will live to recall your words, I trust.

Fear nothing from Osric or Dagobert, These are your friends, if you only knew it, And would take the advice of a friend sincere; Neglect his counsels and you must rue it, For I know by a sign the crisis is near.

Accept the terms of these outlaws all, And be thankful that things have fallen out Exactly as you would have had them fall-- You may save the one that you care about; Otherwise, how did you hope to gain Access to her--on what pretence?

What were the schemes that worried your brain To tempt her there or to lure her thence?

You must have bungled, and raised a scandal About your ears, that might well have shamed The rudest Hun, the veriest Vandal, Long or ever the bird was tamed.

Hugo: The convent is scarce surrounded yet, We might reach and hold it against their force Till another sun has risen and set; And should I despatch my fleetest horse To Otto----

Orion: For Abbot, or Monk, or Friar, Between ourselves, 'tis little you care If their halls are harried by steel and fire: Their avarice left your heritage bare.

Forsake them! Mitres, and cowls, and hoods Will cover vices while earth endures; Through the green and gold of the summer woods Ride out with that pretty bird of yours.

If again you fail to improve your chance, Why, then, my friend, I can only say You are duller far than the dullest lance That rides in Dagobert's troop this day.

"Faemina semper", frown not thus, The girl was always giddy and wild, Vain, and foolish, and frivolous, Since she fled from her father's halls, a child.

I sought to initiate you once In the mystic lore of the old Chaldean; But I found you far too stubborn a dunce, And your tastes are coa.r.s.er and more plebeian.

Yet mark my words, for I read the stars, And trace the future in yonder sky; To the right are wars and rumours of wars, To the left are peace and prosperity.

Fear naught. The world shall never detect The cloven hoof, so carefully hid By the scholar so staid and circ.u.mspect, So wise for once to do as he's bid.

Remember what pangs come year by year For opportunity that has fled; And Thora in ignorance.

Hugo: Name not her!

I am sorely tempted to strike thee dead!

Orion: Nay, I hardly think you will take my life, The angel Michael was once my foe; He had a little the best of our strife, Yet he never could deal so stark a blow.

SCENE--A Chamber in the Nuns' Apartments of the Convent.

AGATHA and URSULA.

Agatha: My sire in my childhood pledged my hand To Hugo--I know not why-- They were comrades then, 'neath the Duke's command, In the wars of Lombardy.

I thought, ere my summers had turned sixteen, That mine was a grievous case; Save once, for an hour, I had never seen My intended bridegroom's face; And maidens vows of their own will plight.

Unknown to my kinsfolk all My love was vowed to a Danish knight, A guest in my father's hall.

His foot fell lightest in merry dance, His shaft never missed the deer; He could fly a hawk, he could wield a lance, Our wildest colt he could steer.

His deep voice ringing through hall or glen Had never its match in song; And little was known of his past life then, Or of Dorothea's wrong.

I loved him--Lady Abbess, I know That my love was foolish now; I was but a child five years ago, And thoughtless as bird on bough.

One evening Hugo the Norman came, And, to shorten a weary tale, I fled that night (let me bear the blame) With Harold by down and dale.

He had mounted me on a dappled steed, And another of coal-black hue He rode himself; and away at speed We fled through mist and dew.

Of miles we had ridden some half a score, We had halted beside a spring, When the breeze to our ears through the still night bore A distant trample and ring; We listen'd one breathing s.p.a.ce, and caught The clatter of mounted men, With vigour renewed by their respite short Our horses dash'd through the glen.

Another league, and we listen'd in vain; The breeze to our ears came mute; But we heard them again on the s.p.a.cious plain, Faint tidings of hot pursuit.

In the misty light of a moon half hid By the dark or fleecy rack, Our shadows over the moorland slid, Still listening and looking back.

So we fled (with a cheering word to say At times as we hurried on), From sounds that at intervals died away, And at intervals came anon.

Another league, and my lips grew dumb, And I felt my spirit quailing, For closer those sounds began to come, And the speed of my horse was failing.

"The grey is weary and lame to boot,"

Quoth Harold; "the black is strong, And their steeds are blown with their fierce pursuit, What wonder! our start was long.

Now, lady, behind me mount the black, The double load he can bear; We are safe when we reach the forest track, Fresh horses and friends wait there."

Then I sat behind him and held his waist, And faster we seemed to go By moss and moor; but for all our haste Came the tramp of the nearing foe.

A d.y.k.e through the mist before us hover'd, And, quicken'd by voice and heel, The black overleap'd it, stagger'd, recover'd; Still nearer that m.u.f.fled peal.

And louder on sward the hoof-strokes grew, And duller, though not less nigh, On deader sand; and a dark speck drew On my vision suddenly, And a single horseman in fleet career, Like a shadow appear'd to glide To within six lances' lengths of our rear, And there for a s.p.a.ce to bide.

Quoth Harold, "Speak, has the moon reveal'd His face?" I replied, "Not so!

Yet 'tis none of my kinsfolk." Then he wheel'd In the saddle and scanned the foe, And mutter'd, still gazing in our wake, "'Tis he; now I will not fight The brother again, for the sister's sake, While I can escape by flight."

"Who, Harold?" I asked; but he never spoke.

By the cry of the bittern harsh, And the bull-frog's dull, discordant croak, I guess'd that we near'd the marsh; And the moonbeam flash'd on watery sedge As it broke from a strip of cloud, Ragged and jagged about the edge, And shaped like a dead man's shroud.

And flagg'd and falter'd our gallant steed, 'Neath the weight of his double burden, As we splash'd through water and crash'd through reed; Then the soil began to harden, And again we gain'd, or we seem'd to gain, With our foe in the deep mora.s.s; But those fleet hoofs thunder'd, and gain'd again, When they trampled the firmer gra.s.s, And I cried, and Harold again look'd back, And bade me fasten mine eyes on The forest, that loom'd like a patch of black Standing out from the faint horizon.

"Courage, sweetheart! we are saved," he said; "With the moorland our danger ends, And close to the borders of yonder glade They tarry, our trusty friends."

Where the mossy uplands rise and dip On the edge of the leafy dell, With a lurch, like the lurch of a sinking s.h.i.+p, The black horse toppled and fell.

Unharm'd we lit on the velvet sward, And even as I lit I lay, But Harold uprose, unsheath'd his sword, And toss'd the scabbard away.

And spake through his teeth, "Good brother-in-law, Forbearance, at last, is spent; The strife that thy soul hath l.u.s.ted for Thou shalt have to thy soul's content!"

While he spoke, our pursuer past us swept, Ere he rein'd his war-horse proud, To his haunches flung, then to the earth he leapt, And my lover's voice rang loud: "Thrice welcome! Hugo of Normandy, Thou hast come at our time of need, This lady will thank thee, and so will I, For the loan of thy sorrel steed!"

And never a word Lord Hugo said, They clos'd 'twixt the wood and the wold, And the white steel flickered over my head In the moonlight calm and cold; 'Mid the feathery gra.s.ses crouching low, With face bow'd down to the dust, I heard the clash of each warded blow, The click of each parried thrust, And the shuffling feet that bruis'd the lawn, As they traversed here and there, And the breath through the clench'd teeth heavily drawn When breath there was none to spare; Sharp ringing sword play, dull, trampling heel, Short pause, spent force to regain, Quick m.u.f.fled footfall, harsh grating steel, Sharp ringing rally again; They seem'd long hours, those moments fleet, As I counted them one by one, Till a dead weight toppled across my feet, And I knew that the strife was done.

When I looked up, after a little s.p.a.ce, As though from a fearful dream, The moon was flinging on Harold's face A white and a weird-like gleam; And I felt mine ankles moist and warm With the blood that trickled slow From a spot on the doublet beneath his arm, From a ghastly gash on his brow; I heard the tread of the sorrel's hoof As he bore his lord away; They pa.s.sed me slowly, keeping aloof, Like spectres, misty and grey.

I thought Lord Hugo had left me there To die, but it was not so; Yet then for death I had little care, My soul seem'd numb'd by the blow; A faintness follow'd, a sickly swoon, A long and a dreamless sleep, And I woke to the light of a sultry noon In my father's castled keep.