The apples now grow green and sour Upon the mouldering castle-wall, Before they ripen there they fall: There are no banners on the tower,

The draggled swans most eagerly eat The green weeds trailing in the moat; Inside the rotting leaky boat You see a slain man's stiffen'd feet.

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, G.o.dmar, 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, The Gascon frontier is so near, Nought after this.

But: O! she said, My G.o.d! my G.o.d! I have to tread The long way back without you; then The court at Paris; those six men; The gratings of the Chatelet; The swift Seine on some rainy day Like this, and people standing by, And laughing, while my weak hands try To recollect how strong men swim.

All this, or else a life with him, For which I should be d.a.m.ned at last, Would G.o.d that this next hour were past!

He answer'd not, but cried his cry, St. George for Marny! cheerily; And laid his hand upon her rein.

Alas! no man of all his train Gave back that cheery cry again; And, while for rage his thumb beat fast Upon his sword-hilt, some one cast About his neck a kerchief long, And bound him.

Then they went along To G.o.dmar; who said: Now, Jehane, Your lover's life is on the wane So fast, that, if this very hour You yield not as my paramour, He will not see the rain leave off: Nay, keep your tongue from gibe and scoff 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 were nothing else to say, And everything were settled: red Grew G.o.dmar'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 G.o.d'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.

Nay, if you do not my behest, O Jehane! though I love you well, Said G.o.dmar, would I fail to tell All that I know? Foul lies, she said.

Eh? lies, my Jehane? by G.o.d'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 G.o.dmar'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 reached out, sore And vain desire so tortured them, The poor grey lips, and now the hem Of his sleeve brush'd them.

With a start Up G.o.dmar 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 G.o.dmar'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 G.o.dmar turn'd grinning to his men, Who ran, some five or six, and beat His head to pieces at their feet.

Then G.o.dmar turn'd again and said: So, Jehane, the first fitte is read!

Take note, my lady, that your way Lies backward to the Chatelet!

She shook her head and gazed awhile At her cold hands with a rueful smile, As though this thing had made her mad.

This was the parting that they had Beside the haystack in the floods.

TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON

There was a lady lived in a hall, Large of her eyes, and slim and tall; And ever she sung from noon to noon, _Two red roses across the moon._

There was a knight came riding by In early spring, when the roads were dry; And he heard that lady sing at the noon, _Two red roses across the moon._

Yet none the more he stopp'd at all, But he rode a-gallop past the hall; And left that lady singing at noon, _Two red roses across the moon._

Because, forsooth, the battle was set, And the scarlet and blue had got to be met, He rode on the spur till the next warm noon: _Two red roses across the moon._

But the battle was scatter'd from hill to hill, From the windmill to the watermill; And he said to himself, as it near'd the noon, _Two red roses across the moon._

You scarce could see for the scarlet and blue, A golden helm or a golden shoe: So he cried, as the fight grew thick at the noon, _Two red roses across the moon!_

Verily then the gold bore through The huddled spears of the scarlet and blue; And they cried, as they cut them down at the noon, _Two red roses across the moon!_

I trow he stopp'd when he rode again By the hall, though draggled sore with the rain; And his lips were pinch'd to kiss at the noon _Two red roses across the moon._

Under the may she stoop'd to the crown, All was gold, there was nothing of brown; And the horns blew up in the hall at noon, _Two red roses across the moon._

WELLAND RIVER

Fair Ellayne she walk'd by Welland river, Across the lily lee: O, gentle Sir Robert, ye are not kind To stay so long at sea.

Over the marshland none can see Your scarlet pennon fair; O, leave the Easterlings alone, Because of my golden hair.

The day when over Stamford bridge That dear pennon I see Go up toward the goodly street, 'Twill be a fair day for me.

O, let the bonny pennon bide At Stamford, the good town, And let the Easterlings go free, And their ships go up and down.

For every day that pa.s.ses by I wax both pale and green, From gold to gold of my girdle There is an inch between.

I sew'd it up with scarlet silk Last night upon my knee, And my heart grew sad and sore to think Thy face I'd never see.

I sew'd it up with scarlet silk, As I lay upon my bed: Sorrow! the man I'll never see That had my maidenhead.

But as Ellayne sat on her window-seat And comb'd her yellow hair, She saw come over Stamford bridge The scarlet pennon fair.

As Ellayne lay and sicken'd sore, The gold shoes on her feet, She saw Sir Robert and his men Ride up the Stamford street.