The Defence of Guenevere · Part 8

Making me feel a doubt that was not fear, Whether my whole life long had been a dream, And I should wake up soon in some place, where The piled-up arms of the fighting angels gleam;

Not born as yet, but going to be born, No naked baby as I was at first, But an armed knight, whom fire, hate and scorn Could turn from nothing: my heart almost burst

Beneath the beeches, as I lay a-dreaming, I tried so hard to read this riddle through, To catch some golden cord that I saw gleaming Like gossamer against the autumn blue.

But while I ponder'd these things, from the wood There came a black-hair'd woman, tall and bold, Who strode straight up to where the tower stood, And cried out shrilly words, whereon behold--

THE WITCH, from the tower.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Let down your hair!

THE PRINCE.

Ah Christ! it was no dream then, but there stood (She comes again) a maiden passing fair, Against the roof, with face turn'd to the wood, Bearing within her arms waves of her yellow hair.

I read my riddle when I saw her stand, Poor love! her face quite pale against her hair, Praying to all the leagues of empty land To save her from the woe she suffer'd there.

To think! they trod upon her golden hair In the witches' sabbaths; it was a delight For these foul things, while she, with thin feet bare, Stood on the roof upon the winter night,

To plait her dear hair into many plaits, And then, while God's eye look'd upon the thing, In the very likenesses of Devil's bats, Upon the ends of her long hair to swing.

And now she stood above the parapet, And, spreading out her arms, let her hair flow, Beneath that veil her smooth white forehead set Upon the marble, more I do not know;

Because before my eyes a film of gold Floated, as now it floats. O unknown love, Would that I could thy yellow stair behold, If still thou standest the lead roof above!

THE WITCH, as she passes.

Is there any who will dare To climb up the yellow stair, Glorious Rapunzel's golden hair?

THE PRINCE.

If it would please God make you sing again, I think that I might very sweetly die, My soul somehow reach heaven in joyous pain, My heavy body on the beech-nuts lie.

Now I remember what a most strange year, Most strange and awful, in the beechen wood I have pass'd now; I still have a faint fear It is a kind of dream not understood.

I have seen no one in this wood except The witch and her; have heard no human tones, But when the witches' revelry has crept Between the very jointing of my bones.

Ah! I know now; I could not go away, But needs must stop to hear her sing that song She always sings at dawning of the day. I am not happy here, for I am strong,

And every morning do I whet my sword, Yet Rapunzel still weeps within the tower, And still God ties me down to the green sward, Because I cannot see the gold stair floating lower.

RAPUNZEL sings from the tower.

My mother taught me prayers To say when I had need; I have so many cares, That I can take no heed Of many words in them; But I remember this: Christ, bring me to thy bliss. Mary, maid withouten wem, Keep me! I am lone, I wis, Yet besides I have made this By myself: Give me a kiss, Dear God dwelling up in heaven! Also: Send me a true knight, Lord Christ, with a steel sword, bright, Broad, and trenchant; yea, and seven Spans from hilt to point, O Lord! And let the handle of his sword Be gold on silver, Lord in heaven! Such a sword as I see gleam Sometimes, when they let me dream.

Yea, besides, I have made this: Lord, give Mary a dear kiss, And let gold Michael, who looked down, When I was there, on Rouen town From the spire, bring me that kiss On a lily! Lord do this!

These prayers on the dreadful nights, When the witches plait my hair, And the fearfullest of sights On the earth and in the air, Will not let me close my eyes, I murmur often, mix'd with sighs, That my weak heart will not hold At some things that I behold. Nay, not sighs, but quiet groans, That swell out the little bones Of my bosom; till a trance God sends in middle of that dance, And I behold the countenance Of Michael, and can feel no more The bitter east wind biting sore My naked feet; can see no more The crayfish on the leaden floor, That mock with feeler and grim claw.

Yea, often in that happy trance, Beside the blessed countenance Of golden Michael, on the spire Glowing all crimson in the fire Of sunset, I behold a face, Which sometime, if God give me grace, May kiss me in this very place.

Evening in the tower.

RAPUNZEL.

It grows half way between the dark and light; Love, we have been six hours here alone: I fear that she will come before the night, And if she finds us thus we are undone.

THE PRINCE.

Nay, draw a little nearer, that your breath May touch my lips, let my cheek feel your arm; Now tell me, did you ever see a death, Or ever see a man take mortal harm?

RAPUNZEL.

Once came two knights and fought with swords below, And while they fought I scarce could look at all, My head swam so; after, a moaning low Drew my eyes down; I saw against the wall

One knight lean dead, bleeding from head and breast, Yet seem'd it like a line of poppies red In the golden twilight, as he took his rest, In the dusky time he scarcely seemed dead.

But the other, on his face, six paces off, Lay moaning, and the old familiar name He mutter'd through the grass, seem'd like a scoff Of some lost soul remembering his past fame.

His helm all dinted lay beside him there, The visor-bars were twisted towards the face, The crest, which was a lady very fair, Wrought wonderfully, was shifted from its place.

The shower'd mail-rings on the speedwell lay, Perhaps my eyes were dazzled with the light That blazed in the west, yet surely on that day Some crimson thing had changed the grass from bright

Pure green I love so. But the knight who died Lay there for days after the other went; Until one day I heard a voice that cried: Fair knight, I see Sir Robert we were sent

To carry dead or living to the king. So the knights came and bore him straight away On their lance truncheons, such a batter'd thing, His mother had not known him on that day,

But for his helm-crest, a gold lady fair Wrought wonderfully.

THE PRINCE.

Ah, they were brothers then, And often rode together, doubtless where The swords were thickest, and were loyal men,

Until they fell in these same evil dreams.

RAPUNZEL.

Yea, love; but shall we not depart from hence? The white moon groweth golden fast, and gleams Between the aspens stems; I fear, and yet a sense

Of fluttering victory comes over me, That will not let me fear aright; my heart, Feel how it beats, love, strives to get to thee; I breathe so fast that my lips needs must part;

Your breath swims round my mouth, but let us go.

THE PRINCE.

I, Sebald, also, pluck from off the staff The crimson banner; let it lie below, Above it in the wind let grasses laugh.

Now let us go, love, down the winding stair, With fingers intertwined: ay, feel my sword! I wrought it long ago, with golden hair Flowing about the hilts, because a word,

Sung by a minstrel old, had set me dreaming Of a sweet bow'd down face with yellow hair; Betwixt green leaves I used to see it gleaming, A half smile on the lips, though lines of care

Had sunk the cheeks, and made the great eyes hollow; What other work in all the world had I, But through all turns of fate that face to follow? But wars and business kept me there to die.

O child, I should have slain my brother, too, My brother, Love, lain moaning in the grass, Had I not ridden out to look for you, When I had watch'd the gilded courtiers pass

From the golden hall. But it is strange your name Is not the same the minstrel sung of yore; You call'd it Rapunzel, 'tis not the name. See, love, the stems shine through the open door.

Morning in the woods.

RAPUNZEL.

O love! me and my unknown name you have well won; The witch's name was Rapunzel: eh! not so sweet? No! but is this real grass, love, that I tread upon? What call they these blue flowers that lean across my feet?

THE PRINCE.

Dip down your dear face in the dewy grass, O love! And ever let the sweet slim harebells, tenderly hung, Kiss both your parted lips; and I will hang above, And try to sing that song the dreamy harper sung.

He sings.

'Twixt the sunlight and the shade Float up memories of my maid: God, remember Guendolen!

Gold or gems she did not wear, But her yellow rippled hair, Like a veil, hid Guendolen!

'Twixt the sunlight and the shade, My rough hands so strangely made, Folded Golden Guendolen.

Hands used to grip the sword-hilt hard, Framed her face, while on the sward Tears fell down from Guendolen.

Guendolen now speaks no word, Hands fold round about the sword: Now no more of Guendolen.

Only 'twixt the light and shade Floating memories of my maid Make me pray for Guendolen.

GUENDOLEN.

I kiss thee, new-found name! but I will never go: Your hands need never grip the hammer'd sword again, But all my golden hair shall ever round you flow, Between the light and shade from Golden Guendolen.

Afterwards, in the Palace.

KING SEBALD.

I took my armour off, Put on king's robes of gold; Over the kirtle green The gold fell fold on fold.

THE WITCH, out of hell.

Guendolen! Guendolen! One lock of hair!

GUENDOLEN.

I am so glad, for every day He kisses me much the same way As in the tower: under the sway Of all my golden hair.

KING SEBALD.

We rode throughout the town, A gold crown on my head; Through all the gold-hung streets, Praise God! the people said.

THE WITCH.

Gwendolen! Guendolen! Lend me your hair!

GUENDOLEN.

Verily, I seem like one Who, when day is almost done, Through a thick wood meets the sun That blazes in her hair.

KING SEBALD.

Yea, at the palace gates, Praise God! the great knights said, For Sebald the high king, And the lady's golden head.

THE WITCH.

Woe is me! Guendolen Sweeps back her hair.

GUENDOLEN.

Nothing wretched now, no screams; I was unhappy once in dreams, And even now a harsh voice seems To hang about my hair.

THE WITCH.

WOE! THAT ANY MAN COULD DARE TO CLIMB UP THE YELLOW STAIR, GLORIOUS GUENDOLEN'S GOLDEN HAIR.

CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE

CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE

And if you meet the Canon of Chimay, As going to Ortaise you well may do, Greet him from John of Castel Neuf, and say All that I tell you, for all this is true.

This Geffray Teste Noire was a Gascon thief, Who, under shadow of the English name, Pilled all such towns and countries as were lief To King Charles and St. Denis; thought it blame

If anything escaped him; so my lord, The Duke of Berry, sent Sir John Bonne Lance, And other knights, good players with the sword, To check this thief, and give the land a chance.

Therefore we set our bastides round the tower That Geffray held, the strong thief! like a king, High perch'd upon the rock of Ventadour, Hopelessly strong by Christ! It was mid spring,

When first I joined the little army there With ten good spears; Auvergne is hot, each day We sweated armed before the barrier; Good feats of arms were done there often. Eh?

Your brother was slain there? I mind me now, A right good man-at-arms, God pardon him! I think 'twas Geffray smote him on the brow With some spiked axe, and while he totter'd, dim

About the eyes, the spear of Alleyne Roux Slipped through his camaille and his throat; well, well! Alleyne is paid now; your name Alleyne too? Mary! how strange! but this tale I would tell: