 | The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell |  |
THE FORD
After dusk Philip Vernon, having waited long at the appointed ford, begins to walk to and fro uneasily, and says:
Will sorely hurt him; and yet, chance what may,
This treason ends. Who 's there?”
Hugh Langmayde.
Lost men, I fear. The wood, the wood! Ere dawn
We must be far from this. One feeble fool
Upon the rack betrayed us. Oh, that school
Makes ready scholars! Death is close at hand.
As they leave the shore, the sound of men-at-arms comes from above and below, and always nearing them.
That was so near deliverance! Here, my son,
Take this, and go.”
The priest, fainting and in haste, gives to Philip a packet.
Philip Vernon.
I saw wide open. Come!
The old man, helped, hurries through the chase. As they cross an open space near the garden, the moon comes out, and from a thicket the flash of steel is seen, and the red blaze of half a dozen musquetoons. The
Curse on the heretic! Fly, Philip!”
Philip Vernon.
Not I, by Heaven!
And, standing within the gateway, he cries fiercely as he fights:
You this for vengeance, and you this, and go
To hell that spawned you!”
As with cries and shouts the men fall back, there is a brief pause, while Lord Grey comes forward, sword in hand.
Philip Vernon.
The place is somewhat narrow, and the sward
Gives but ill footing. Neither can I spare
To teach you tricks of fence to-day. Beware!
Habet! You have it. Yes, this under-thrust
Is deadly dangerous. Never put your trust
In that weak parry—traitor! coward! take
This for my love! this for that old man's sake!
As Lord Grey staggers and falls, he cries to those about him:
Philip again attacks the men who are nearest, and as they give way, retreating, he shuts the gate. Then, kneeling, he lifts the priest's head, and exclaims:
No worse can come to me.”
As Philip bends over the priest, he hears him groan and mutter:
Kill, kill the heretic!”
Philip Vernon.
Alas!
Hugh Langmayde.
Christ, for a minute's life to speak! I said
Of her—your mother—something—
But even as the words are on his lips the priest's head drops, and he dies.
Philip Vernon.
God pity me, I loved him. Wrong or right,
I loved him well. Christ rest his soul to-night.
As he rises he hears voices and shots, and, instantly turning, flies through the shrubbery until, bewildered, he comes upon a doorway in the side wall of the castle, and, in the darkness stumbling in haste upon a narrow stairway, opens a door cautiously, and enters the chapel of the castle.
And here's a little respite, heaven-sent.”
Breathing fast and hard, he sinks exhausted on the chancel step.
I would to God that I were by his side!
But the mere brute in us will show his teeth:
I fought as if all life were glad.—Beneath
This cross a child I knelt.”
Of a sudden he leaps up at sight of one coming through the darkness.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Mother of mercy! It is I! 't is I!
I thought you slain.
Philip Vernon.
I have one friend the less.
They've killed my only father; none may guess
My utter loneliness.
Elizabeth Vernon.
I hear men's feet.
Get you behind the altar.
Philip Vernon.
Kiss me, sweet;
That will make death seem easy.
Elizabeth Vernon.
He obeys, and Elizabeth Vernon falls on her knees before the crucifix.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Save! save him!
Here comes in hot haste the steward, with men-at-arms and the Queen's officers.
Steward.
The Lady Elizabeth rising, he says, as he comes forward:
The dead man's traitor comrade.”
Elizabeth Vernon.
He hides not here. Search you the river-banks;
The hills beyond the chase. He shall have thanks
Who finds this Spanish ruffler. Go! make haste!
These ducats for his capture. See you waste
No time about the castle. Shall it hap
This Spanish fox would seek so plain a trap?
Upon this the steward and men leave the chapel, and as the noise fades away Philip Vernon comes forward.
Philip Vernon.
Right bravely done!
Elizabeth Vernon.
At this Philip Vernon gives her that packet the priest had given him, and, much troubled, says:
Sits heavy on my conscience. Ere I miss
Thy dear face, take it; for I have no mind
To carry treason. Should you chance to find
Aught that may ruin men, I pray of you
Destroy it; burn it.”
What costs a minute? You have that to spare.
This altar-lamp suffices. Rest you there.
Some one might enter on us unaware.
As she opens the packet and reads therein a great surprise possesses her.
The Vernon arms?—a locket?—mysteries
That much concern me.”
Philip Vernon.
Answer I have none.
The good priest gave me these ere life was done.
I thought them dangerous.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Letters out of Spain!
The King's grave attestation. Still in vain
I tax my cunning. Who are you that brought
This tale of wonder?
Philip Vernon.
Madam, I was taught
To call myself plain Philip Vernon. I
Was that in Spain.
Elizabeth Vernon.
You Philip Vernon! Try
To tell me more. Is it indeed of you
What I find written here? Is—is it true?
Philip Vernon.
How can I know? The Jesuit, flying, found
A tired boy-swimmer floating as if drowned,
And kept him all these years in Spain.
Think. Strive
Some memory of childhood to revive.
Philip Vernon.
Ah, but what matters it to me? They bring
No happy fortune. What am I? A thing
The sea refused to bury, which that priest
Caught for mere pity ere it died—the least,
Ay, least of men am I. A waif forlorn.
Only in name a Vernon. I have borne
That old man's silence long, till he of late
Cursed me with knowledge of my bastard fate,
To use my anguish in a desperate game—
For what cared I, the unreckoned child of shame?
Elizabeth Vernon.
Of twenty earls is in your veins. He lied
Who told you that. Look! look! these papers! See!
I am the heir no longer; you are he.
Philip staggers back against a marble effigy of a boy on a tomb just behind him, and cries out:
Swore by the rood! A priest! The rood! No more!
It cannot be.”
Elizabeth Vernon.
It is. If less the gloom,
You might have seen, my lord, your very tomb
Behind you there. And fully on the scroll
How, Philip Vernon drowned, “his precious soul
Is with the saints.” Oh, I could laugh, were death
Less neighbored to my mirth. Also it saith,
“Witty and virtuous, also learned”—forsooth,
I think I must have loved you in your youth,
And ever since, my Philip.—What to do
I know not. Yes! let your sword counsel you.
Seek my Lord Howard, the High Admiral;
Tell him this story boldly. Ay, tell all—
All this strange story. Let what may befall,
You cannot lose my love. Go, go, my lord;
Only to England could my soul afford
This new-born hope. Go now; the Spanish fleet
Is on the seas. Go, Philip. When you meet
Your boyhood's jailers, strike for brave Queen Bess,
And for this Bess, that is thy queen no less.
Go! I shall love you as no mortal man
Was ever loved of maid since love began.
Philip Vernon.
As he speaks he kneels, and sets her hand to his lips, and then looking up, says:
Dear as the summer sun to prisoned men,
Life, trust, and love, I have them all again.
Love! By my soul, I would I knew a word
Unsoiled by this world's commerce—never heard,
Save by some ardent angel, that should say
My more than earthly love.”
Elizabeth Vernon.
Let love teach haste. This for the stirrup-cup!
And now, God speed you! All the country's up;
That way is safest. Here, this farther door
Leads to the strand. Go, set those wits to see
What rose of honor you can pluck for me.
They go out of the chapel, and descend to the bank of the river.
Philip Vernon.
Good-night! Sweet night, that marries hope to love.
Elizabeth Vernon.
She stands and watches him as his boat goes down the river.
Elizabeth Vernon.
Oh, I could cry, could laugh; and if I knew
A saint of laughter, I would pray that you
Do keep me merry for good cause. Alack,
Being but a maid, I would I had you back.
| The complete poems of S. Weir Mitchell | |