Classic Poem

A GATHA and U RSULA . 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 space, 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 spacious 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 dyke 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 muffled 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 space 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 scann'd the foe,
And muttered, 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 the 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 seemed to gain,
 With our foe in the deep morass;
But those fleet hoofs thunder'd, and gain'd again,
 When they trampled the firmer grass.
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 ship,
 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 lusted 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 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 closed 'twixt the wood and the wold,
And the white steel flicker'd over my head
 In the moonlight calm and cold;
'Mid the feathery grasses 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 muffled 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 look'd up, after a little space,
 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 pass'd 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.

And thus, Lady Abbess, it came to pass
 That my father vow'd his vow.
Must his daughter espouse the Church? Alas!
 Is she better or wiser now?
For some are feeble and others strong,
 And feeble am I and frail.
Mother! 'tis not that I love the wrong,
 'Tis not that I loathe the veil;
But with heart still ready to go astray,
 If assail'd by a fresh temptation,
I could sin again as I sinn'd that day
 For a girl's infatuation.
See! Harold, the Dane, thou say'st is dead,
 Yet I weep not bitterly ;
As I fled with the Dane, so I might have fled
 With Hugo of Normandy. Ursula:

My child, I advise no hasty vows,
 Yet I pray that in life's brief span
Thou may'st learn that our Church is a fairer spouse
 Than fickle and erring man;
Though fenced for a time by the Church's pale,
 When that time expires thou'rt free;
And we cannot force thee to take the veil,
 Nay, we scarce can counsel thee.

Enter the Abbot hastily. Basil (the Abbot):

I am sorely stricken with shame and grief;
 It has come by the self-same sign,
A summons brief from the outlaw'd chief,
 Count Rudolph of Rothenstein.
Lady Abbess, ere worse things come to pass,
 I would speak with thee alone;
Alack and alas! for by the rood and mass
 I fear we are all undone.