Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/120

"Ho, Christian page! art keeping sheep,
 From pouring wine-cups, resting?"—
"I keep my master's noble name,
 For warring, not for feasting:
And if that here Sir Hubert were,
My master brave, my master dear,
 Ye would not stay to question."

"Where is thy master, scornful page,
 That we may slay or bind him?"—
"Now search the lea, and search the wood,
 And see if ye can find him!
Nathless, as hath been often tried,
Your Paynim heroes faster ride
 Before him than behind him."

"Give smoother answers, lying page,
 Or perish in the lying."—
"I trow that if the warrior brand
Beside my foot, were in my hand,
 'Twere better at replying."
They cursed her deep, they smote her low,
They cleft her golden ringlets through:
 The Loving is the Dying.

She felt the scimitar gleam down,
 And met it from beneath,
With smile more bright in victory
 Than any sword from sheath,—
Which flashed across her lip serene,
Most like the spirit-light between
 The darks of life and death.

 Ingemisco, ingemisco!
From the convent on the sea,
Now it sweepeth solemnly!
As over wood and over lea,
Bodily the wind did carry
The great altar of St. Mary,