Classic Poem

Where, through western windows, dieth—
Gold and rose—the sunset's light,
With his dame, in marble, lieth
Andrew Weldon, armèd Knight:
Side by side, the legend sayeth,
These two lived and died:
Seemeth it most fair and fit
To rest so, side by side.

Nothing here, above or under,
Of fanatic gloom;
No fool's fear of death's deep wonder
Spoils their simple tomb:
Seems it that the sculptor carved it
Only for to show
What the Lady and the Knight were
Now they are not so.

Silvery twitters of swift swallows
Reach them, flashing by;
Shadows of the spear-leaved sallows
On their foreheads lie,
Shadows of the flickering sallows,
Of the fragrant limes,
Waving to-day as green and gay
As in their vanished times.

Fair, be sure, was this great lady,
Eyes, I guess, whose blue,
Cold and calm, but beaming steady,
Tender seemed and true.
Certes! of a noble presence,
Dutiful and staid,
Worthinesse was glad before her,
Worthlessnesse dismayed.

Read beneath, in golden letters
Proudly written down,

Names of all her “sonnes and daughteres!”
Each a matron-crown:
Deftly carved in ruff and wimple,
Kneeling figures show
Small heads over smaller, rising
In a solemn row.

These her triumphs: sterner token
Chronicles her Lord!
Hangs above him, grim and broken,
Gilded helm and sword:
Sometimes, when with choir and organ
All the still air swings,
Red with the rust, and gray with the dust,
Low rattles the blade, and rings.

Time was, Knight, that tiny treble
Should have stirred thy soul
More than drums and trumpets rebel
Braying after Noll:
No more fight, now!—nay, nor flight, now!
The rest which thou hast given
In chancel-shade to yon good blade
God gives thy soul in Heaven.

Somewhere on this summer morning
In this English isle,
Gleams a cheek whose soft adorning,
Lady! wears thy smile!
Some one in the Realm, whose fathers
Suffered much and long,
Owes that sword and its good Lord
Thanks for a righted wrong.

Therefore for that maiden pray I
Dame! God thee assoil!
Therefore for that freeman say I
Knight! God quit thy toil!
And for all Christian men—and me—
Grace from the gracious Lord
To write our name with no more shame,
And sheathe as clean a sword.