Over my head his arm he flung Against the world; and scarce I felt 110 His sword (that dripped by me and swung) A little shifted in its belt: For he began to say the while How South our home lay many a mile.

XX

So 'mid the shouting mult.i.tude We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued Their life, untroubled as before I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place G.o.d lighten! May his soul find grace! 120

XXI

Our elder boy has got the clear Great brow; tho' when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it... Gismond here?

And have you brought my tercel back?

I just was telling Adela How many birds it struck since May.

NOTES: "Count Gismond: Aix in Provence" ill.u.s.trates, in the person of the woman who relates to a friend an episode of her own life, the power of innate purity to raise up for her a defender when caught in the toils woven by the unsuspected envy and hypocrisy of her cousins and Count Gauthier, who attempt to bring dishonor upon her, on her birthday, with the seeming intention of honoring her. Her faith that the trial by combat between Gauthier and Gismond must end in Gismond's victory and her vindication reflects most truly, as Arthur Symons has pointed out, the medieval atmosphere of chivalrous France.

124. Tercel: a male falcon.

THE BOY AND THE ANGEL

Morning, evening, noon and night, "Praise G.o.d!" sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned, Whereby the daily meal was earned.

Hard he laboured, long and well; O'er his work the boy's curls fell.

But ever, at each period, He stopped and sang, "Praise G.o.d!"

Then back again his curls he threw, And cheerful turned to work anew. 10

Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done; I doubt not thou art heard, my son:

As well as if thy voice to-day Were praising G.o.d, the Pope's great way.

This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome Praises G.o.d from Peter's dome."

Said Theocrite, "Would G.o.d that I Might praise him, that great way, and die!"

Night pa.s.sed, day shone, And Theocrite was gone. 20

With G.o.d a day endures alway, A thousand years are but a day.

G.o.d said in heaven, "Nor day nor night Now brings the voice of my delight."

Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth Spread his wings and sank to earth; .

Entered, in flesh, the empty cell, Lived there, and played the craftsman well;

And morning, evening, noon and night, Praised G.o.d in place of Theocrite. 30

And from a boy, to youth he grew: The man put off the stripling's hue:

The man matured and fell away Into the season of decay:

And ever o'er the trade he bent, And ever lived on earth content.

(He did G.o.d's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.)

G.o.d said, "A praise is in mine ear; There is no doubt in it, no fear: 40

So sing old worlds, and so New worlds that from my footstool go.

Clearer loves sound other ways: I miss my little human praise."

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings, off fell The flesh disguise, remained the cell.

'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome, And paused above Saint Peter's dome.

In the tiring-room close by The great outer gallery, 50

With his holy vestments dight, Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:

And all his past career Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, Till on his life the sickness weighed;

And in his cell, when death drew near, An angel in a dream brought cheer:

And rising from the sickness drear He grew a priest, and now stood here. 60

To the East with praise he turned, And on his sight the angel burned.

"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell And set thee here; I did not well.

"Vainly I left my angel-sphere, Vain was thy dream of many a year.

"Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped-- Creation's chorus stopped!

"Go back and praise again The early way, while I remain. 70

"With that weak voice of our disdain, Take up creation's pausing strain.

"Back to the cell and poor employ: Resume the craftsman and the boy!"

Theocrite grew old at home; A new Pope dwelt in Peter's dome.

One vanished as the other died: They sought G.o.d side by side.