Mano a poetical history of the time of the close of the tenth century concerning the adventures of a Norman knight which fell part in Normandy part in Italy. In four books. By Richard Watson Dixon |
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XI.— HOW MANO MET WITH COUNT THUROLD, DIANTHA'S FATHER.
High-towered Spoletum made we thus in march,That spreads along the hills her gleaming wall:
And through that gate we entered, on whose arch
Is written the defeat of Hannibal,
The town's old glory and enduring pride:
And there dwelt Thurold and his knights withal.
Great was the joy that was on either side,
When there we met whom we to seek were come
Auxiliars in their fortune's wavering tide.
A high man seemed the count, keen and blithesome,
And, as an old knight, straight and light of port,
Gay as an eagle in his mountain home.
He made us welcome in a fitting sort;
The father of the false Diantha he
Whom Mano carried to the Norman court.
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Thus he to Mano, “from an older day,
Not failing scion of a bending tree,
“I who first taught thee arms, and see thee pay
My quittance in the sword that thou dost bear
Against mine enemies, what shall I say?
“Joy bringest thou for woe, hope for despair
By thy return; and my brave family
By many noble sons dost thou repair,
“All who to join my banner come with thee:
Thou art my first-born of the sword; and these
Thy younger brethren: for one house are we,
“Whom warlike danger binds more fast than peace.
Now, lifted by this aid above dismay,
Soon shall we cause the Greekish foe to cease,
“And drive him hence from these fair realms away,
Though thick in every field his armed bands,
And far the cruel spoiler hunt his prey.”
Thus nobly spake he: and with joined hands,
Bade welcome to us all, and kindly cheer,
And into hall we came by his commands.
That night was held a feast in high manner;
Where, as we sat, Sir Thurold presently
After Diantha asked, his daughter dear;
To whom full sadly Mano made reply,
—“Sir, both to carry out and not fulfil
A purposed thing, into that case came I,
“Who bore your noble daughter by your will
To her old home, and there delivered her:
Whence either she by waywardness did steal,
“Or was conveyed by wicked ravisher:
Nor found again, though sought both far and wide.”
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And in that hour seemed hurt amidst his pride:
But with high bearing still no word he threw
Of grievousness in all that he replied:
Nay rather it appeared as if he grew
More gentle toward Sir Mano, knowing well
That to his power he faithful was and true:
The more, that he to extenuate nought did mell
Of that ill luck, nor of the time delayed
By him in Normandy beneath love's spell:
When he his musters slowly drew to aid,
And now was come but late with laggard powers:
All this the old man to oblivion bade.
Man's love of man all other loves devours;
But the love of age to youth is wonderful:
The withered tree looks on the tree that flowers,
Age from the eyes of youth fresh life doth pull.
For memory wakes therein the marvel owed
By age to youth, when age by time made null
Beholds strong youth still under life's huge load.
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