Although my spear in splinters flew, From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;

I wheel'd about, and cried for you.

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

Yea, do not doubt my heart was good, Though my sword flew like rotten wood, To shout, although I scarcely stood,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

My hand was steady too, to take
My axe from round my neck, and break
John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

When I stood in my tent again,
Arming afresh, I felt a pain
Take hold of me, I was so fain-

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée

To hear: Honneur aux fils des preux!
Right in my ears again, and shew
The gilliflower blossom'd new.

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

The Sieur Guillaume against me came, His tabard bore three points of flame From a red heart; with little blame,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée,—

Our tough spears crackled up like straw;
He was the first to turn and draw
His sword, that had nor speck nor flaw;
Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée.

But I felt weaker than a maid,
And my brain, dizzied and afraid,
Within my helm a fierce tune play'd,

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée,
Until I thought of your dear head,
Bow'd to the gilliflower bed,
The yellow flowers stain'd with red;

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. Crash! how the swords met: giroflée! The fierce tune in my helm would play, La belle! la belle! jaune giroflée!

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. Once more the great swords met again : "La belle! la belle!" but who fell then? Le Sieur Guillaume, who struck down ten:

Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflée. And as with mazed and unarm'd face, Toward my own crown and the Queen's place,

SHAMEFUL DEATH

THERE were four of us about that bed;
The mass-priest knelt at the side,
I and his mother stood at the head,
Over his feet lay the bride;
We were quite sure that he was dead,
Though his eyes were open wide.

He did not die in the night,

He did not die in the day, But in the morning twilight His spirit pass'd away,

When neither sun nor moon was bright,
And the trees were merely gray.

He was not slain with the sword,
Knight's axe, or the knightly spear,
Yet spoke he never a word
After he came in here;

I cut away the cord

From the neck of my brother dear. He did not strike one blow,

For the recreants came behind,
In a place where the hornbeams grow,
A path right hard to find,
For the hornbeam boughs swing so,
That the twilight makes it blind.

They lighted a great torch then.
When his arms were pinion'd fast,
Sir John the knight of the Fen,
Sir Guy of the Dolorous Blast,
With knights threescore and ten,
Hung brave Lord Hugh at last.

I am threescore and ten,

And my hair is all turn'd gray, But I met Sir John of the Fen Long ago on a summer day, And am glad to think of the moment when

I took his life away.

I am threescore and ten,

And my strength is mostly pass'd, But long ago I and my men,

When the sky was overcast,

And the smoke roll'd over the reeds of

the fen,

Slew Guy of the Dolorous Blast.

GOLD on her head, and gold on her feet, And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,

And a golden girdle round my sweet;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Margaret's maids are fair to see, Freshly dress'd and pleasantly; Margaret's hair falls down to her knee;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

If I were rich I would kiss her feet; I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,

And the golden kirtle round my sweet: Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Ah me! I have never touch'd her hand; When the arrière-ban goes through the land,

Six basnets under my pennon stand;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

And many an one grins under his hood: Sir Lambert du Bois, with all his men good,

Has neither food nor firewood;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

If I were rich I would kiss her feet,
And the golden girdle of my sweet,
And thereabouts where the gold hems
meet:

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Yet even now it is good to think, While my poor varlets grumble and drink

In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.—

Of Margaret sitting glorious there,
In glory of gold and glory of hair,
And glory of glorious face most fair;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

Likewise to-night I make good cheer,
Because this battle draweth near:
For what have I to lose or fear?

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

For, look you, my horse is good to prance A right fair measure in this war-dance, Before the eyes of Philip of France;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

And sometime it may hap, perdie, While my new towers stand up three and three,

And my hall gets painted fair to seeAh! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite

That folks may say: Times change, by the rood,

For Lambert, banneret of the wood,
Has heaps of food and firewood;

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.
And wonderful eyes, too, under the hood
Of a damsel of right noble blood.
St. Ives, for Lambert of the Wood!

Ah! qu'elle est belle La Marguerite.

1858.

Sir Miles said, while the sails hung down, When the Sword went out to sea, "O, Ursula! while I see the town, What shall I bring for thee?" "Dear knight, bring back a falcon "9 brown:

The Sword went out to Sea.

But my Roland, no word he said

When the Sword went out to sea, But only turn'd away his head ;

A quick shriek came from me: "Come back, dear lord, to your white maid!"

The Sword went out to sea.

The hot sun bit the garden-beds

When the Sword came back from sea; Beneath an apple-tree our heads

Stretched out toward the sea; Gray gleamed the thirsty castle-leads, When the Sword came back from sea.

Lord Robert brought a ruby red,

When the Sword came back from sea; He kissed Alicia on the head:

"I am come back to thee;

"T is time, sweet love, that we were wed,

Now the Sword is back from sea!"

Sir Miles he bore a falcon brown,

When the Sword came back from sea; His arms went round tall Ursula's gown: "What joy, O love, but thee? Let us be wed in the good town,

Now the Sword is back from sea!"

My heart grew sick, no more afraid, When the Sword came back from sea; Upon the deck a tall white maid

Sat on Lord Roland's knee; His chin was press'd upon her head, When the Sword came back from sea!

LADY LOUISE

Sister, let the measure swell
Not too loud; for you sing not well
If you drown the faint boom of the bell;
He is weary, so am I.

And ever the chevron overhead
Flapp'd on the banner of the dead;
(Was he asleep, or was he dead?)

LADY ALICE

Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
Two damzels wearing purple and green,
Four lone ladies dwelling here
From day to day and year to year;
And there is none to let us go;
To break the locks of the doors below,
Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;
And when we die no man will know
That we are dead; but they give us
leave,

Once every year on Christmas-eve,
To sing in the Closet Blue one song;
And we should be so long, so long,

If we dared, in singing; for dream on dream,

They float on in a happy stream; Float from the gold strings, float from the kevs

Float from the open'd lips of Louise;
But, alas! the sea-salt oozes through
The chinks of the tiles of the Closet
Blue;

And ever the great bell overhead
Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,
The wind plays on it a knell for the
dead.

THEY SING ALL TOGETHER

How long ago was it, how long ago, He came to this tower with hands full of snow?

"Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down!" he said,

And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.

He watch'd the snow melting, it ran through my hair,

Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.

"I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,

For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas;

THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS
HAD she come all the way for this,
To part at last without a kiss?
Yea, had she borne the dirt and rain
That her own eyes might see him slain
Beside the haystack in the floods?

Along the dripping leafless woods,
The stirrup touching either shoe,
She rode astride as troopers do;
With kirtle kilted to her knee,
To which the mud splash'd wretchedly;
And the wet dripp'd from every tree
Upon her head and heavy hair,
And on her eyelids broad and fair;
The tears and rain ran down her face.

By fits and starts they rode apace,
And very often was his place
Far off from her; he had to ride
Ahead, to see what might betide
When the roads cross'd; and sometimes,
when

There rose a murmuring from his men,
Had to turn back with promises.
Ah me! she had but little ease;
And often for pure doubt and dread
She sobb'd, made giddy in the head
By the swift riding; while, for cold,
Her slender fingers scarce could hold
The wet reins; yea, and scarcely, too,
She felt the foot within her shoe
Against the stirrup: all for this,
To part at last without a kiss
Beside the haystack in the floods.

For when they near'd that old soak'd hay,

They saw across the only way
That Judas, Godmar, and the three
Red running lions dismally
Grinn'd from his pennon, under which
In one straight line along the ditch,
They counted thirty heads.

So then
While Robert turn'd round to his men.
She saw at once the wretched end,
And, stooping down, tried hard to rend
Her coif the wrong way from her head,
And hid her eyes; while Robert said:
Nay, love, 'tis scarcely two to one;
At Poictiers where we made them run
So fast-why, sweet my love, good
cheer,

6.

The Gascon frontier is so near, Nought after us.”

66

But: "O!" she said. "My God! my God! I have to tread

Sir Robert, or I slay you now."

She laid her hand upon her brow,
Then gazed upon the palm, as though
She thought her forehead bled, and:
"No!"

She said, and turn'd her head away,
As there was nothing else to say,
And everything was settled: red
Grew Godmar's face from chin to head:
"Jehane, on yonder hill there stands
My castle, guarding well my lands;
What hinders me from taking you,
And doing that I list to do
To your fair wilful body, while
Your knight lies dead?

A wicked smile
Wrinkled her face, her lips grew thin,
A long way out she thrust her chin:
"You know that I should strangle you
While you were sleeping; or bite through
Your throat, by God's help: ah!” she

said,

"Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!
For in such wise they hem me in,
I cannot choose but sin and sin,
Whatever happens: yet I think
They could not make me eat or drink,
And so should I just reach my rest."

said.

Eh? lies, my Jehane? by God's head, At Paris folks would deem them true! Do you know, Jehane, they cry for you: Jehane the brown! Jehane the brown! Give us Jehane to burn or drown!' Eh!-gag me Robert !-sweet my friend, This were indeed a piteous end

For those long fingers, and long feet, And long neck, and smooth shoulders sweet;

An end that few men would forget
That saw it. So, an hour yet:
Consider, Jehane, which to take
Of life or death!"

So, scarce awake,
Dismounting, did she leave that place,
And totter some yards: with her face
Turn'd upward to the sky she lay,
Her head on a wet heap of hay,
And fell asleep and while she slept,
And did not dream, the minutes crept
Round to the twelve again; but she,
Being waked at last, sigh'd quietly,
And strangely childlike came, and said:
"I will not." Straightway Godmar's
head,

As though it hung on strong wires, turn'd

Most sharply round, and his face burn'd.

For Robert, both his eyes were dry,
He could not weep, but gloomily
He seem'd to watch the rain; yea, too,
His lips were firm; he tried once more
To touch her lips; she reach'd out, sore
And vain desire so tortured them,
The poor gray lips, and now the hem
Of his sleeve brush'd them.

With a start Up Godmar rose, thrust them apart; From Robert's throat he loosed the bands

Of silk and mail; with empty hands Held out, she stood and gazed, and saw, The long bright blade without a flaw Glide out from Godmar's sheath, his hand

In Robert's hair; she saw him bend Back Robert's head; she saw him send The thin steel down; the blow told well, Right backward the knight Robert fell, And moaned as dogs do, being half dead, Unwitting, as I deem: so then

Godmar turn'd grinning to his men,