‘T was mirth and astonishment all;
And the Archbishop started, and mutter’d a prayer,
And, wroth at receiving such mockery there,
In haste he withdrew from the hall.
16.
The moon dimpled over the water with light
As he wander’d along the lake side;
But the King had pursued, and o’erjoyed at his sight,
“Oh turn thee. Archbishop, my joy and delight,
Oh turn thee, my charmer,” he cried;
17.
“Oh come where the feast and the dance and the song
Invite thee to mirth and to love;
Or at this happy moment away from the throng
To the shade of yon wood let us hasten along,..
The moon never pierces that grove.”
18.
As thus by new madness the King seem’d possest,
In new wonder the Archbishop heard;
Then Charlemain warmly and eagerly prest
The good old man’s poor wither’d hand to his breast,
And kiss’d his long grey grizzle beard.
19.
“Let us well then these fortunate moments employ I”
Cried the Monarch with passionate tone:
“Come away then, dear charmer,.. my angel,..my joy,
Nay struggle not now,..’t is in vain to be coy,..
And remember that we are alone.”
20.
“Blessed Mary, protect me I “the Archbishop cried;
“What madness has come to the King!”
In vain to escape from the Monarch he tried,
When luckily he on his finger espied
The glitter of Agatha’s ring.
21.
Overjoy’d, the good prelate remember’d the spell,
And far in the lake flung the ring;
The waters closed round it, and wondrous to tell,
Released from the cursed enchantment of hell,
His reason return’d to the King.
22.
But he built him a palace there close by the bay,
And there did he love to remain;
And the traveller who will, may behold at this day
A monument still in the ruins at Aix
Of the spell that possess’d Charlemain.
Bath, 1797.
ST. ROMUALD.
ONE day, it matters not to know
How many hundred years ago,
A Frenchman stopt at an inn door:
The Landlord came to welcome him, and chat
Of this and that,
For he had seen the Traveller there before.
“Doth holy Romuald dwell
Still in his cell?”
The Traveller ask’d, “or is the old man dead?”
“No; he has left his loving flock, and we
So great a Christian never more shall see,”
The Landlord answer’d, and he shook his head.
“Ah, Sir! we knew his worth I
If ever there did live a Saint on earth!..
Why, Sir, he always used to wear a shirt
For thirty days, all seasons, day and night:
Good man, he knew it was not right
For Dust and Ashes to fall out with Dirt;
And then he only hung it out in the rain,
And put it on again.
There has been perilous work
With him and the Devil there in yonder cell;
For Satan used to maul him like a Turk.
There they would sometimes fight
All through a winter’s night,
From sun-set until morn,
He with a cross, the Devil with his horn;
The Devil spitting fire with might and main
Enough to make St Michael half afraid;
He splashing holy water till he made
His red hide hiss again,
And the hot vapour fill’d the smoking cell.
This was so common that his face became
All black and yellow with the brimstone flame,
And then he smelt,.. O Lord! how he did smell
“Then, Sir I to see how he would mortify
The flesh! If any one had dainty fare,
Good man, he would come there,
And look at all the delicate things, and cry,.
“O Belly, Belly,
You would be gormandizing now I know;
But it shall not be so!..
Home to your bread and water.. home, I tell ye!”
“But,” quoth the Traveller, “whereforedid he leave
A flock that knew his saintly worth so well?”
“Why,” said the Landlord, “Sir, it so befell
He heard unluckily of our intent
To do him a great honour: and you know,
He was not covetous of fame below,
And so by stealth one night away he went.”’
“What might this honour be?” the Traveller cried;
“Why, Sir,” the Host replied,
“We thought perhaps that he might one day leave us;
And then should strangers have
The good man’s grave,
A loss like that would naturally grieve us,
For he’ll be made a Saint of to be sure.
Therefore we thought it prudent to secure
His relics while we might;
And so we meant to strangle him one night.”
Westbury, 1798.
THE KING OF THE CROCODILES.
PART I.
“Now, Woman, why without your veil?
And wherefore do you look so pale?
And, Woman, why do you groan so sadly,
And wherefore beat your bosom madly?”
“Oh! I have lost my darling boy,
In whom my soul had all its joy;
And I for sorrow have tom my veil,
And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.
“Oh, I have lost my darling child,
And that’s the loss that makes me wild;
He stoop’d to the river down to drink,
And there was a Crocodile by the brink.
“He did not venture in to swim,
He only stoopt to drink at the brim;
But under the reeds the Crocodile lay,
And struck with his tail and swept him away.
“Now take me in your boat, I pray,
For down the river lies my way,
And me to the Reed-Island bring,
For I will go to the Crocodile King.
“He reigns not now in Crocodilople,
Proud as the Turk at Constantinople;
No ruins of his great City remain,
The Island of Reeds is his whole domain.
“Like a Dervise there he passes his days,
Turns up his eyes, and fasts and prays;
And being grown pious and meek and mild,
He now never eats man, woman, or child.
“The King of the Crocodiles never does wrong,
He has no tail so stiff and strong,
He has no tail to strike and slay,
But he has ears to hear what I say.
“And to the King I will complain,
How my poor child was wickedly slain;
The King of the Crocodiles he is good,
And I shall have the murderer’s blood.”
The man replied, “No, Woman, no,
To the Island of Reeds I will not go;
I would not for any worldly thing
See the face of the Crocodile King.”
“ — Then lend me now your little boat,
And I will down the river float.
I tell thee that no worldly thing
Shall keep me from the Crocodile King.
“The King of the Crocodiles he is good,
And therefore will give me blood for blood;
Being so mighty and so just,
He can revenge me, he will, and he must.”
The Woman she leapt into the boat,
And down the river alone did she float,
And fast with the stream the boat proceeds,
And now she is come to the Island of Reeds.
The King of the Crocodiles there was seen,
He sat upon the eggs of the Queen,
And all around, a numerous rout,
The young Prince Crocodiles crawl’d about.
The Woman shook every limb with fear,
As she to the Crocodile King came near,
For never man without fear and awe
The face of his Crocodile Majesty saw.
She fell upon her bended knee,
And said, “O King, have pity on me,
For I have lost my darling child,
And that’s the loss that makes me wild.
‘A Crocodile ate him for his food;
flow let me have the murderer’s blood;
Let me have vengeance for my boy,
The only thing that can give me joy.
“I know that you, Sire! never do wrong,
You have no tail so stiff and strong,
You have no tail to strike and slay,
But you have ears to hear what I say.’
“You have done well,” the King replies,
And fix’d on her his little eyes;
“Good Woman, yes, you have done right,
But you have not described me quite.
“I have no tail to strike and slay,
And I have ears to hear what you say;
I have teeth, moreover, as you may see,
And I will make a meal of thee.”
Bristol, 1799.
PART II.
WICKED the word and bootless the boast,
As cruel King Crocodile found to his cost,
And proper reward of tyrannical might,
He show’d his teeth, but he miss’d his bite.
“A meal of me!” the Woman cried,
Taking wit in her anger, and courage beside;
She took him his forelegs and hind between,
And trundled him off the eggs of the Queen.
To revenge herself then she did not fail,
He was slow in his motions for want of a tail;
But well for the Woman was it, the while,
That the Queen was gadding abroad in the Nile.
Two Crocodile Princes, as they play’d on the sand,
She caught, and grasping them one in each hand,
Thrust the head of one into the throat of the other,
And made each Prince Crocodile choke his brother
And when she had truss’d three couple this way,
She carried them off, and hasten’d away,
And plying her oars with might and main,
Cross’d the river and got to the shore again.
When the Crocodile Queen came home, she found
That her eggs were broken and scatter’d around,
And that six young Princes, darlings all,
Were missing, for none of them answer’d her call.
Then many a not very pleasant thing
Pass’d between her and the Crocodile King:
“Is this your care of the nest?” cried she;
“It comes of your gadding abroad,” said he.
The Queen had the better in this dispute,
And the Crocodile King found it best to be mute,
While a terrible peal in his ears she rung,
For the Queen had a tail as well as a tongue.
In woeful patience he let her rail,
Standing less in fear of her tongue than her tail,
And knowing that all the words which were spoken
Could not mend one of the eggs that were broken.
The Woman, meantime, was very well pleased
She had saved her life, and her heart was eased;
The justice she ask’d in vain for her son,
She had taken herself, and six for one.
“Mash-Allah!” her neighbours exclaim’d in delight:
She gave them a funeral supper that night,
Where they all agreed that revenge was sweet,
And young Prince Crocodiles delicate meat.
THE ROSE.
BETWENE the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the felde florsched. For als moche as a fayre Mâyden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadd don fomicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche she was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made her preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace: and whanne sche had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge becomen white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise werein the first Roseres and roses, both white and rede, that every ony man saughe. And thus was this Maiden saved by the grace of God. — The Voiage and Traivaüe of Sir John Maundeville.
NAY, EDITH! spare the Rose;.. perhaps it lives,
And feels the noontide sun, and drinks refresh’d
The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand
Tear its life-strings asunder, and destroy
The sense of being!... Why that infidel smile?
Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful;
And thou shalt have a tale of other days,
For I am skill’d in legendary lore,
So thou wilt let it live. There was a time
Ere this, the freshest, sweetest flower that blooms,
Bedeck’d the bowers of earth. Thou hast not heard
How first by miracle its fragrant leaves
Spread to the sun their blushing loveliness.
There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid,
And Zillah was her name, so passing fair
That all Judea spake the virgin’s praise.
He who had seen her eyes’ dark radiance
How it reveal’d her soul, and what a soul
Beam’d in the mild effulgence, woe to him!
For not in solitude, for not in crowds,
Might he escape remembrance, nor avoid
Her imaged form which followed every where,
And fill’d the heart, and fix’d the absent eye.
Alas for him! her bosom own’d no love
Save the strong ardour of religious zeal,
For Zillah on her God had center’d all
Her spirit’s deep affections. So for her
Her tribes-men sigh’d in vain, yet reverenced
The obdurate virtue that destroy’d their hopes.
One man there was, a vain and wretched man,
Who saw, desired, despaired, and hated her.
His sensual eye had gloated on her cheek
Even till the flush of angry modesty
Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more.
She loathed the man, for Hamuel’s eye was bold,
And the strong workings of brute selfishness
Had moulded his broad features; and she fear’d
The bitterness of wounded vanity
That with a fiendish hue would overcast
His faint and lying smile. Nor vain her fear,
For Hamuel vow’d revenge, and laid a plot
Against her virgin fame. He spread abroad
Whispers that travel fast, and ill reports
That soon obtain belief; how Zillah’s eye,
When in the temple heaven-ward it was raised,
Did swim with rapturous zeal, but there were those
Who had beheld the enthusiast’s melting glance
With other feelings fill’d;.. that ‘t was a task
Of easy sort to play the saint by day
Before the public eye, but that all eyes
Were closed at night;.. that Zillah’s life was foul,
Yea, forfeit to the law.
S
hame.. shame to man,
That he should trust so easily the tongue
Which stabs another’s fame! The ill report
Was heard, repeated, and believed,.. and soon,
For Hamuel by his well-schemed villainy
Produced such semblances of guilt,.. the Maid
Was to the fire condemn’d.
Without the walls,
There was a barren field; a place abhorr’d,
For it was there where wretched criminals
Receiv’d their death; and there they fix’d the stake,
And piled the fuel round, which should consume
The injured Maid, abandon’d, as it seem’d,
By God and Man. The assembled Bethlemites
Beheld the scene, and when they saw the Maid
Bound to the stake, with what calm holiness
She lifted up her patient looks to Heaven,
They doubted of her guilt. With other thoughts
Stood Hamuel near the pile; him savage joy
Led thitherward, but now within his heart
Unwonted feelings stirr’d, and the first pangs
Of wakening guilt, anticipant of Hell.
The eye of Zillah as it glanced around
Fell on the slanderer once, and rested there
A moment; like a dagger did it pierce,
And struck into his soul a cureless wound.
Conscience! thou God within us! not in the hour
Of triumph dost thou spare the guilty wretch,
Not in the hour of infamy and death
Forsake the virtuous! They draw near the stake,..
They bring the torch!... hold, hold your erring hands!
Yet quench the rising flames!.. they rise! They spread!
They reach the suffering Maid! oh God protect
The innocent one!
They rose, they spread, they raged;...
The breath of God went forth; the ascending fire
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 118