The Poetical Works of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. M.P Part 56

"Beat back the Saxons--beat them well, my friend, 29 And when they're beaten, and your hands at leisure, Set to your harp a ditty on my end-- The most appropriate were the shortest measure: Forewarn'd by me all light discourses shun, And mostly--jests on Adam's second son."

He said, and wended down the glowing hill. 30 Long watch'd the minstrel with a wistful gaze, Then join'd the musing seer--and both were still, Still 'mid the ruins--girded with the rays: Twin heirs of light and lords of time, grey Truth That ne'er is young--and Song the only youth.

At dawn Sir Gawaine through the postern stole, 31 But first he sought one reverend friend--a bishop, By him a.s.soil'd and shrived, he felt his soul Too clean for cooks that fry for fiends to dish up; And then suggested, lighter and elater, To cross the raven with some holy water.

Henricus--so the prelate sign'd his name-- 32 Was lord high chancellor in things religious; With him church militant in truth became (_Nam cedant arma togae_) church litigious; He kept his deacons notably in awe By flowers epistolar perfumed with law.

No man more stern, more _fort.i.ter in re_, 33 No man more mild, more _suaviter in modo_; When knots grew tough, it was sublime to see Such polish'd shears go clippingly _in nodo_; A hand so supple, pliant, glib, and quick, Ne'er smooth'd a band, nor burn'd a heretic.

He seem'd to turn to you his willing cheek, 34 And beg you not to smite too hard the other; He seized his victims with a smile so meek, And wept so fondly o'er his erring brother, No wolf more righteous on a lamb could sup, You vex'd his stream--he grieved--and eat you up.

"Son," said Henricus, "what you now propose 35 Is wise and pious--fit for a beginning; But sinful things, I fear me, but disclose, In sin, perverted appet.i.te for sinning; Hopeless to cure--we only can detect it, First cross the bird and then (he groan'd) _dissect it_!"

Till now, the raven perch'd on Gawaine's chair 36 Had seem'd indulging in a placid doze, And if he heard, he seem'd no jot to care For threats of sprinkling his demoniac clothes, But when the priest the closing words let drop He hopp'd away as fast as he could hop.

Gain'd a safe corner, on a pile of tomes, 37 Tracts against Arius--bulls against Pelagius, The church of Cymri's controverse with Rome's-- Those fierce materials seem'd to be contagious, For there, with open beak and glowering eye, The bird seem'd croaking forth, "Dissect me! try!"

This sight, perchance, the prelate's pious plan 38 Relax'd; he gazed, recoil'd, and faltering said, "'Tis clear the monster is the foe of man, His beak how pointed! and his eyes how red!

Demons are spirits;--spirits, on reflexion, Are forms phantasmal, that defy dissection."

"Truly," sigh'd Gawaine, "but the holy water!" 39 "No," cried the Prelate, "ineffective here.

Try, but not now, a simple _noster-pater_, Or chaunt a hymn. I dare not interfere; Act for yourself--and say your catechism; Were I to meddle, it would cause a schism."

"A schism!"--"The church, though always in the right, 40 Holds two opinions, both extremely able; This makes the rubric rest on gowns of white, That makes the church itself depend on sable; Were I to exorcise that raven-back 'Twould favour white, and raise the deuce in black.[3]

"Depart my son--at once, depart, I pray, 41 Pay up your dues, and keep your mind at ease, And call that creature--no, the other way-- When fairly out, a _credo_, if you please;-- Go,--_pax vobisc.u.m_;--shut the door I beg, And stay;--On Friday, flogging,--with an egg!"

Out went the knight, more puzzled than before; 42 And out, unsprinkled, flew the Stygian bird; The bishop rose, and doubly lock'd the door; His pen he mended, and his fire he stirr'd; Then solved that problem--"Pons Diaconorum,"

White equals black, plus x y botherorum.

So through the postern stole the troubled knight; 43 Still as he rode, from forest, mount, and vale, Rung lively horns, and in the morning light Flash'd the sheen banderoll, and the pomp of mail, The welcome guests of War's blithe festival, Keen for the feast, and summon'd to the hall.

Curt answer gave the knight to greeting gay, 44 And none to taunt from scurril churl unkind, Oft asking, "if he did mistake the way?"-- Or hinting, "war was what he left behind;"

As noon came on, such sights and comments cease, Lone through the pastures rides the knight in peace.

Grave as a funeral mourner rode Gawaine-- 45 The bird went first in most indecent glee, Now lost to sight, now gamb'ling back again-- Now munch'd a beetle, and now chaced a bee-- Now pluck'd the wool from meditative lamb, Now pick'd a quarrel with a l.u.s.ty ram.

Sharp through his visor, Gawaine watch'd the thing, 46 With dire misgivings at that impish mirth: Day wax'd--day waned--and still the dusky wing Seem'd not to find one resting-place on earth.

"Saints," groan'd Gawaine, "have mercy on a sinner, And move that devil--just to stop for dinner!"

The bird turn'd round, as if it understood. 47 Halted the wing, and seem'd awhile to muse; Then dives at once into a dismal wood, And grumbling much, the hungry knight pursues, To hear (and hearing, hope once more revives), Sweet-clinking horns, and gently-clas.h.i.+ng knives.

An opening glade a pleasant group displays; 48 Ladies and knights amidst the woodland feast; Around them, reinless, steed and palfrey graze; To earth leaps Gawaine--"I shall dine at least."

His casque he doffs--"Good knights and ladies fair, Vouchsafe a famish'd man your feast to share."

Loud laugh'd a big, broad-shoulder'd, burly host; 49 "On two conditions, eat thy fill," quoth he; "Before one dines, 'tis well to know the cost-- Thou'lt wed my daughter, and thou'lt fight with me."

"Sir Host," said Gawaine, as he stretch'd his platter, "I'll first the pie discuss, and then--the matter."

The ladies look'd upon the comely knight 50 His arch bright eye provoked the smile it found; The men admired that vasty appet.i.te, Meet to do honour to the Table Round; The host, reseated, sent the guest his horn, Brimm'd with pure drinks distill'd from barley corn.

Drinks rare in Cymri, true to milder mead, 51 But long familiar to Milesian lays, So huge that draught, it had dispatch'd with speed Ten Irish chiefs in these degenerate days: Sir Gawaine drain'd it, and Sir Gawaine laugh'd, "Cool is your drink, though scanty is the draught;

"But, pray you pardon (sir, a slice of boar), 52 Judged by your accent, mantles, beards, and wine, (If wine this be) ye come from HUERDAN'S[4] sh.o.r.e, To aid, no doubt, our kindred Celtic line; Ye saw the watch-fires on our hills at night And march to Carduel? read I, sirs, aright?"

"Stranger," replied the host, "your guess is wrong, 53 And shows your lack of history and reflection; Huerdan with Cymri is allied too long, We come, my friend, to sever the connection: But first (your bees are wonderful for honey), Yield us your hives--in plainer words your money."

"Friend," said the golden-tongued Gawaine, "methought 54 Your mines were rich in wealthier ore than ours."

"True," said the host, superbly, "were they wrought!

But shall Milesians waste in work their powers?

Base was that thought, the heartless insult masking,"

"Faith," said Gawaine, "gold's easier got by asking."

Upsprung the host, upsprung the guests in ire-- 55 Unsprung the gentle dames, and fled affrighted; High rose the din, than all the din rose higher The croak of that curs'd raven quite delighted; Sir Gawaine finish'd his last slice of boar, And said, "Good friends, more business and less roar.

"If you want peace--shake hands, and peace, I say, 56 If you want fighting, gramercy! we'll fight."

"Ho," cried the host, "your dinner you must pay-- The two conditions."--"Host, you're in the right, To fight I'm willing, but to wed I'm loth: I choose the first."--"Your word is bound to _both_:

"Me first engaged, if conquer'd you are--dead, 57 And then alone your honour is acquitted: But conquer me, and then you must be wed; You ate!--the contract in that act admitted."

"Host," cried the knight, half-stunn'd by all the clatter, "I only said I would discuss the matter.

"But if your faith upon my word reposed, 58 That thought alone King Arthur's knight shall bind."

Few moments more, and host and guest had closed-- For blows come quick when folks are so inclined: They foin'd, they fenced, changed play, and hack'd, and hew'd-- Paused, panted, eyed each other and renew'd;

At length a dexterous and back-handed blow 59 Clove the host's casque and bow'd him to his knee.

"Host," said the Cymrian to his fallen foe; "But for thy dinner wolves should dine on thee; Yield--thou bleed'st badly--yield and ask thy life."

"Content," the host replied--"embrace thy wife!"

"O cursed bird," cried Gawaine, with a groan, 60 "To what fell trap my wretched feet were carried!

My darkest dreams had ne'er this fate foreshown-- I sate to dine, I rise--and I am married!

O worse than Esau, miserable elf, He sold his birthright--but he kept himself."

While thus in doleful and heart-rending strain 61 Mourn'd the lost knight, the host his daughter led, Placed her soft hand in that of sad Gawaine-- "Joy be with both!"--the bridegroom shook his head!

"I have a castle which I won by force-- Mount, happy man, for thither wends our course:

"Page, bind my scalp--to broken scalps we're used. 62 Your bride, brave son, is worthy of your merit; No man alive has Erin's maids accused, And least _that_ maiden, of a want of spirit; She plies a sword as well as you, fair sir, When out of hand, just try your hand on her."

Not once Sir Gawaine lifts his leaden eyes, 63 To mark the bride by partial father praised, But mounts his steed--the gleesome raven flies Before; beside him rides the maid amazed: "Sir Knight," said she at last, with clear loud voice, "I hope your musings do not blame your choice?"

"Damsel," replied the knight of golden tongue, 64 As with some effort be replied at all, "Sith our two skeins in one the Fates have strung, My thoughts were guessing when the shears would fall; Much irks it me, lest vow'd to toil and strife, I doom a widow where I make a wife.

"And sooth to say, despite those matchless charms 65 Which well might fire our last new saint, Dubricius, To-morrow's morn must s.n.a.t.c.h me from thine arms; Led to far lands by auguries, not auspicious-- Wise to postpone a bond, how dear soever, Till my return."--"Return! that may be never:

"What if you fall? (since thus you tempt the Fates) 66 The yew will flourish where the lily fades; The laidliest widows find consoling mates With far less trouble than the comeliest maids; Wherefore, Sir Husband, have a cheerful mind, Whate'er may chance your wife will be resign'd."

That loving comfort, arguing sense discreet, 67 But coldly pleased the knight's ungrateful ear, But while devising still some vile retreat, The trumpets flourish and the walls frown near; Just as the witching night begins to fall They pa.s.s the gates and enter in the hall.

Soon in those times primaeval came the hour 68 When balmy sleep did wasted strength repair, They led Sir Gawaine to the lady's bower, Unbraced his mail, and left him with the fair; Then first, demurely seated side by side, The dolorous bridegroom gazed upon the bride.

No iron heart had he of golden tongue, 69 To beauty none by nature were politer; The bride was tall and buxom, fresh and young, And while he gazed, his tearful eyes grew brighter; "'For good, for better,' runs the sacred verse, Sith now no better--let me brave the worse."