The spits are wont to turn with; wine And wheaten bread, that we may dine

In plenty each day of the siege.

Good friends, ye know me no hard liege;

My lady is right fair, see ye!

Pray G.o.d to keep you frank and free.

Love Isabeau, keep goodly cheer; The Little Tower will stand well here

Many a year when we are dead, And over it our green and red,

Barred with the Lady's golden head, From mere old age when we are dead.

THE SAILING OF THE SWORD

Across the empty garden-beds, _When the Sword went out to sea,_ I scarcely saw my sisters' heads Bowed each beside a tree.

I could not see the castle leads, _When the Sword went out to sea,_

Alicia wore a scarlet gown, _When the Sword went out to sea,_ But Ursula's was russet brown: For the mist we could not see The scarlet roofs of the good town, _When the Sword went out to sea._

Green holly in Alicia's hand, _When the Sword went out to sea;_ With sere oak-leaves did Ursula stand; O! yet alas for me!

I did but bear a peel'd white wand, _When the Sword went out to sea._

O, russet brown and scarlet bright, _When the Sword went out to sea,_ My sisters wore; I wore but white: Red, brown, and white, are three; Three damozels; each had a knight, _When the Sword went out to sea._

Sir Robert shouted loud, and said: _When the Sword went out to sea,_ Alicia, while I see thy head, What shall I bring for thee?

O, my sweet Lord, a ruby red: _The Sword went out to sea._

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 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; Grey gleam'd 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; 'Tis 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!_

SPELL-BOUND

How weary is it none can tell, How dismally the days go by!

I hear the tinkling of the bell, I see the cross against the sky.

The year wears round to Autumn-tide, Yet comes no reaper to the corn; The golden land is like a bride When first she knows herself forlorn;

She sits and weeps with all her hair Laid downward over tender hands; For stained silk she hath no care, No care for broken ivory wands;

The silver cups beside her stand; The golden stars on the blue roof Yet glitter, though against her hand His cold sword presses for a proof

He is not dead, but gone away.

How many hours did she wait For me, I wonder? Till the day Had faded wholly, and the gate

Clanged to behind returning knights?

I wonder did she raise her head And go away, fleeing the lights; And lay the samite on her bed,

The wedding samite strewn with pearls: Then sit with hands laid on her knees, Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls That chatter outside in the breeze?

I wonder did her poor heart throb At distant tramp of coming knight?

How often did the choking sob Raise up her head and lips? The light,

Did it come on her unawares, And drag her sternly down before People who loved her not? in prayers Did she say one name and no more?

And once, all songs they ever sung, All tales they ever told to me, This only burden through them rung: _O golden love that waitest me!_

_The days pa.s.s on, pa.s.s on apace, Sometimes I have a little rest In fairest dreams, when on thy face My lips lie, or thy hands are prest_

_About my forehead, and thy lips Draw near and nearer to mine own; But when the vision from me slips, In colourless dawn I lie and moan,_

_And wander forth with fever'd blood, That makes me start at little things, The blackbird screaming from the wood, The sudden whirr of pheasants' wings._

_O dearest, scarcely seen by me!_ But when that wild time had gone by, And in these arms I folded thee, Who ever thought those days could die?

Yet now I wait, and you wait too, For what perchance may never come; You think I have forgotten you, That I grew tired and went home.

But what if some day as I stood Against the wall with strained hands, And turn'd my face toward the wood, Away from all the golden lands;

And saw you come with tired feet, And pale face thin and wan with care, And stained raiment no more neat, The white dust lying on your hair:

Then I should say, I could not come; This land was my wide prison, dear; I could not choose but go; at home There is a wizard whom I fear:

He bound me round with silken chains I could not break; he set me here Above the golden-waving plains, Where never reaper cometh near.

And you have brought me my good sword, Wherewith in happy days of old I won you well from knight and lord; My heart upswells and I grow bold.

But I shall die unless you stand, Half lying now, you are so weak, Within my arms, unless your hand Pa.s.s to and fro across my cheek.