Classic Poem

FROM AN OLD ROMANCE .

Back to the town the Vianese in haste
Withdrew; the gate was barred, the draw-bridge raised.
This when king Charles beheld, his blood with rage
Boiled fiercely, and right wrathfully he spake —
" Dash forward to th' assault, ye knightly race!
Who fails me now — whatever fief he claims,
Holds he in France strong fort or rich estate,
Fair castle, borough, tower, or marketplace,
All even with the ground shall soon be laid! "
Hearing such words as these, all forward came.
Some close beneath the walls pavises bare,
And hammers and steel-headed hatchets swayed.
Straight to the walls the Vianese repaired,
And hurled adown huge beams and stony hail,
Till more than sixty of the youthful race
Of France's heroes fell, full sorely maimed.
" Imperial lord " — Sir Naims-im-Bart then spake,
If thou by force of arms this town wouldst gain
With all its lofty walls and ramparts fair,
Its thick and steadfast towers, unworn by age,
Which once with savage strength the heathen framed,
Methinks, 'twill never in thy life be ta'en!
Send therefore to the land of France in haste,
That carpenters be hitherward conveyed;
And when at last these walls shall meet their gaze,
Then bid them manifold machines prepare
That so the walls may fall! "
The Emperor hears him, and with anger fired,
" Montjoy! " with mighty voice he loudly cries,
" What makes you tremble so, my valiant knights? "
Hereat begins anew the stormy strife,
They heave, they hurl, they sling with furious might.
And lo! amongst them Alda, Venus-like,
Comes forward, proudly clad in robes of price,
With golden threads right skilfully bedight.
Red were her blooming cheeks, and blue her eyes.
She stepped upon the mighty rampart's height,
And when she viewed th' assault, the uproar wild,
Stooped down and seized a stone of wondrous size,
Which on a Gascon's helm she caused to light
So sternly, that the crest in twain it rived,
And scarcely he retained the breath of life.
This deed beheld brave Roland, keen of sight,
And thus with mighty voice the hero cries:
" By all the Saints I swear, upon this side
Will no one ever make the town his prize,
For I 'gainst womankind will never fight. "
Not long delayed he, ere once more he cries:
" Who art thou, virgin fair, so Venus-like?
Receive my question with a gracious mind,
I ask thee but from ignorance, not slight. "
" My name from thee I hide not " — she replies,
" By them that reared me was I Alda hight,
Daughter of Rayner, Genoa's prince and pride,
Sister of Oliver so keen of sight,
And niece of Gerhard, famed for high emprise.
Illustrious is my race, its empire wide.
Unwedded to this day have I survived,
And, by the saints and angels, so will bide.
For he I wed must please duke Gerhard's mind
And Oliver's, in whom all valour shines. "
Then to himself made Roland answer light —
" Now by the saints, 'tis pity but thou find
Thyself soon nestling in these arms of mine!
For so I purpose, if the combat dire
To which Sir Oliver hath me defied
Shall leave me conqueror! "

Then spake again fair Alda, the discreet,
" Sir Knight, I nowise have from thee concealed
The knowledge thou didst pray me to reveal.
Then answer me in turn — if so thou please —
From whence art thou, and by what parents reared?
I marvel at thy large well-fastened shield,
Thy sword, that by thy side hangs bright and keen,
Thy lance, from which a pennon bravely streams,
And at thy dapple-gray and stately steed,
That swiftly as a winged arrow speeds.
'Mid those that stem our host thou tak'st the lead,
Before all others thou a hero seem'st.
By all my powers of guess, I well believe
That she thou lovest must be beauty's queen! "
Then Roland, laughing loud, made answer meet,
" Yea, lady, 'tis the truth that thou dost speak!
In all wide Christendom she hath no peer,
Nor — that I know — elsewhere! "

Yet Roland, hearing that she so replied,
Would not at once reveal his whole design,
But answered her in turn, dismissing guile.
" Dear lady, let at least this truth suffice,
By them that love me am I Roland hight. "
Fair Alda heard him with a joyous mind;
" Art thou that Roland who — else rumour lies —
Wilt meet my brother soon in desperate strife?
Thou little knowest all his force and fire.
For if thou plighted art 'gainst him to strive,
I tell thee of a truth, it stirs mine ire;
For men will think thou seek'st me for thy bride;
I hear such rumours are already rife.
Yea, by thy truth and service as a knight,
Had I not yesterday escaped thy gripe,
Thou hadst not been so merciful or kind
As e'er to set me free in any wise. "
Roland her words remarked, and thus replied,
" I pray thee, of mine honour make not light. "
The Emperor to the Count of Berri cries,
" Sir Lambert! tell me true, dismissing guile,
Who is the maid on yonder turret's height
Who oft to Roland speaks, and he replies? "
" Now by my loyalty, " Sir Lambert cries,
" 'Tis beauteous Alda, she whom all admire,
Of valiant Rayner, Genoa's prince, the child.
Soon to Roin she goes — the Lombard's bride. "
" That will she never, " cried the king, and smiled,
" Roland himself hath set on her his mind;
And sooner should a hundred steel-clad knights
Be slain, than Alda prove the Lombard's bride. "
So spake the king; but Roland straight retired
From Alda, who remained upon the height.
The king beheld him, and with slightest smile
Exclaimed — " Dear nephew, what dost thou design
Towards yon maiden on the turret's height?
If thou, perchance, against her cherish ire,
I pray thee now in love, forgive her quite! "
Childe Roland heard, with shame his cheeks were fired
Beneath his uncle's gaze.

" Dear nephew mine, " quoth Charles, the hero brave,
" For her dear sake, who with thee lately spake,
Hast thou upon one spot too long delayed.
For Oliver meanwhile dashed through the gate,
And with him knights a hundred, well arrayed,
Who by surprise thy followers have ta'en,
In twain have cleft some twenty of their pates,
And freed the prisoners which we lately made!
Of this was beauteous Alda well aware,
And did but jest with thee to keep thee safe! "
Childe Roland heard him, and for anger raved,
His countenance was flushed with furious rage.
But when the Emperor saw how Roland chafed,
He sought to turn aside his wrath again.
" Dear nephew, be not mad with rage, " he spake;
" For her dear sake who with thee talked of late,
We'll turn us homeward to our tents again;
For love of her we'll bid the siege be raised. "
Childe Roland answered — " Be it as thou say'st. "
A trumpet blew — the mighty host in haste
Drew backward to their tents.