THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE.
109
He saw my father's knightly glaive
Was changed from steel to stone.
Was changed from steel to stone.
"But Earl Walter's glaive was steel,
With a brave old hand to wear it!
And dashed the lie back in the mouth
Which lied against the godly truth
And against the knightly merit!
The slanderer, 'neath the avenger's heel,
Struck up the dagger in appeal
From stealthy lie to brutal force—
And out upon that traitor's corse,
Was yielded the true spirit!
With a brave old hand to wear it!
And dashed the lie back in the mouth
Which lied against the godly truth
And against the knightly merit!
The slanderer, 'neath the avenger's heel,
Struck up the dagger in appeal
From stealthy lie to brutal force—
And out upon that traitor's corse,
Was yielded the true spirit!
"I would mine hand had fought that fight,
And justified my father!
I would mine heart had caught that wound,
And slept beside him rather!
I think it were a better thing
Than murthered friend, and marriage-ring,
Forced on my life together.
And justified my father!
I would mine heart had caught that wound,
And slept beside him rather!
I think it were a better thing
Than murthered friend, and marriage-ring,
Forced on my life together.
"Wail shook Earl Walter's house—
His true wife shed no tear—
She lay upon her bed as mute
As the earl did on his bier:
Till—' Ride, ride fast,' she said at last,
'And bring the avengèd's son anear!
Ride fast—ride free, as a dart can flee;
For white of ble, with waiting for me,
Is the corse in the next chambere.'
His true wife shed no tear—
She lay upon her bed as mute
As the earl did on his bier:
Till—' Ride, ride fast,' she said at last,
'And bring the avengèd's son anear!
Ride fast—ride free, as a dart can flee;
For white of ble, with waiting for me,
Is the corse in the next chambere.'
"I came—I knelt beside her bed—
Her calm was worse than strife—
'My husband, for thy father dear,
Gave freely, when thou wert not here,
His own and eke my life.
A boon! Of that sweet child we make
An orphan for thy father's sake,
Make thou, for ours, a wife.'
Her calm was worse than strife—
'My husband, for thy father dear,
Gave freely, when thou wert not here,
His own and eke my life.
A boon! Of that sweet child we make
An orphan for thy father's sake,
Make thou, for ours, a wife.'
