Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently, —
Toll slowly.
And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes
Which he could not bear to see.
Quoth he, "Get thee from this strife, – and the sweet saints bless thy life!" —
Toll slowly.
"In this hour, I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed —
But no more of my noble wife."
Quoth she, "Meekly have I done all thy biddings under sun: " —
Toll slowly.
"But by all my womanhood, which is proved so true and good,
I will never do this one.
"Now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity," —
Toll slowly.
"In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed,
Thou hast also need of me.
"By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardiè," —
Toll slowly.
"If, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from stall,
Shall be also room for me.
"So the sweet saints with me be" (did she utter solemnly), —
Toll slowly.
"If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride,
He shall ride the same with me."
Oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter-well, —
Toll slowly.
"Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves,
To hear chime a vesper-bell?"
She clang closer to his knee – "Ay, beneath the cypress-tree!" —
Toll slowly.
"Mock me not, for otherwhere than along the greenwood fair,
Have I ridden fast with thee!
"Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kinsman's house!"
Toll slowly.
"What! and would you men should reck that I dared more for love's sake
As a bride than as a spouse?
"What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all," —
Toll slowly.
"That a bride may keep your side while through castle-gate you ride,
Yet eschew the castle-wall?"
Ho! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing, —
Toll slowly.
With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling in —
Shrieks of doing and undoing!
Twice he wrung her hands in twain, but the small hands closed again, —
Toll slowly.
Back he reined the steed – back, back! but she trailed along his track
With a frantic clasp and strain.
Evermore the foemen pour through the crash of window and door, —
Toll slowly.
And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of "kill!" and "flee!"
Strike up clear amid the roar.
Thrice he wrung her hands in twain, – but they closed and clung again, —
Toll slowly.
Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood,
In a spasm of deathly pain.
She clung wild and she clung mute, – with her shuddering lips half-shut, —
Toll slowly.
Her head fallen as half in swound, – hair and knee swept on the ground, —
She clung wild to stirrup and foot.
Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone, —
Toll slowly.
Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind,
Whence a hundred feet went down.
And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode,
Toll slowly.
"Friends, and brothers! save my wife! – Pardon, sweet, in change for life, —
But I ride alone to God."
Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame, —
Toll slowly.
She upsprang, she rose upright, – in his selle she sate in sight,
By her love she overcame.
And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest, —
Toll slowly.
"Ring," she cried, "O vesper-bell, in the beechwood's old chapelle!
But the passing-bell rings best."
They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose – in vain, —
Toll slowly.
For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air,
On the last verge rears amain.
Now he hangs, the rocks between – and his nostrils curdle in, —
Toll slowly.
Now he shivers head and hoof – and the flakes of foam fall off;
And his face grows fierce and thin!
And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, —
Toll slowly.
And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony
Of the headlong death below, —
And, "Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, "i' the old chapelle!" —
Toll slowly.
Then back-toppling, crashing back, – a dead weight flung out to wrack,
Horse and riders overfell.
IRMINGARD'S ESCAPE
I am the Lady Irmingard,
Born of a noble race and name!
Many a wandering Suabian bard,
Whose life was dreary and bleak and hard,
Has found through me the way to fame.
Brief and bright were those days, and the night
Which followed was full of a lurid light.
Love, that of every woman's heart
Will have the whole, and not a part,
That is to her, in Nature's plan,
More than ambition is to man,
Her light, her life, her very breath,
With no alternative but death,
Found me a maiden soft and young,
Just from the convent's cloistered school,
And