A Mirror of Faith | ||
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XVI. The Last Hunt of William Rufus.
(Aug. 1st or 2nd, 1100.)
King William reign'd in England;
A bold bad king was he:
He looked with grace on the ill man's face,
And he bade the good man flee.
A bold bad king was he:
He looked with grace on the ill man's face,
And he bade the good man flee.
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His servants, at his word, made search
For the silver and the gold
Her sons had given to Holy Church,
In the pious days of old;
For the silver and the gold
Her sons had given to Holy Church,
In the pious days of old;
There was never a night but he lay down
A worse man than he rose;
And never a morning but up he sprung
Worse than at evening's close;
A worse man than he rose;
And never a morning but up he sprung
Worse than at evening's close;
Yet seldom prince, before or since,
Had wealth and power as he;
The words he said, the schemes he laid,
Prosper'd exceedingly:
Had wealth and power as he;
The words he said, the schemes he laid,
Prosper'd exceedingly:
He put his trust in things of dust,
And sought for fear, not love;
And he said, as he followed his own heart's lust,
“There is no God above!”
And sought for fear, not love;
And he said, as he followed his own heart's lust,
“There is no God above!”
He treasur'd up, by deeds of wrong,
A fearful reckoning day;
For mercy, though it tarrieth long,
It will not bide alway.
A fearful reckoning day;
For mercy, though it tarrieth long,
It will not bide alway.
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In that same forest, which of old
His father's lust had made,
When church and cot he spar'd them not,
But both in ruins laid;
In that same forest, by the son,
Shall vengeance' debt be paid.
His father's lust had made,
When church and cot he spar'd them not,
But both in ruins laid;
In that same forest, by the son,
Shall vengeance' debt be paid.
He rose at light from a reveller's night,
And Mass he would not hear:
They told him portent to affright;
He laugh'd to scorn their fear:
And Mass he would not hear:
They told him portent to affright;
He laugh'd to scorn their fear:
A deer sprung out at his very feet,
And he thought to pierce it soon:
And he spurred thro' the heat on his steed so fleet,
But the chace held on till noon:
And he thought to pierce it soon:
And he spurred thro' the heat on his steed so fleet,
But the chace held on till noon:
And not till then, in a shady glen,
The good stag stood at bay:
—What follow'd next, alone of men
Can Walter Tyrrell say.
The good stag stood at bay:
—What follow'd next, alone of men
Can Walter Tyrrell say.
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Oh then too slow was the king's cross-bow,
For the deer sprung past his aim;
“Shoot! Walter Tyrrell! shoot!” he cried—
“Shoot! in the devil's name!” —
For the deer sprung past his aim;
“Shoot! Walter Tyrrell! shoot!” he cried—
“Shoot! in the devil's name!” —
Some say that the shaft Sir Walter aim'd
Glanc'd off to King William's heart:
Some say that the fiend the King had nam'd
Directed himself the dart:
Glanc'd off to King William's heart:
Some say that the fiend the King had nam'd
Directed himself the dart:
Of a fearful form in the greenwood bough,
And of fearful sounds they tell;
Yet never was known, from then till now,
How William Rufus fell.
And of fearful sounds they tell;
Yet never was known, from then till now,
How William Rufus fell.
His body lay in the same green glade,
All in an August sun:
The many friends his gold had made,
They fail'd him every one;
All in an August sun:
The many friends his gold had made,
They fail'd him every one;
But peasants laid it in a cart,
When their toil at Vespers ceas'd;
And the life-blood flowed along the road
Like the blood of a slaughter'd beast;
When their toil at Vespers ceas'd;
And the life-blood flowed along the road
Like the blood of a slaughter'd beast;
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And at Compline-tide to Winchester
The festering corpse they bring:
And they laid him in the Cathedral church
Because he had been a King
The festering corpse they bring:
And they laid him in the Cathedral church
Because he had been a King
But never a heart at his death was sore,
And never an eye was dim:
The church bells toll for mean and poor,
But they never toll'd for him:
And never an eye was dim:
The church bells toll for mean and poor,
But they never toll'd for him:
No Psalms they said, no Prayers they made,
No Holy Alms they gave:
And his treasures at last to another past,
Ere he was in his grave!
No Holy Alms they gave:
And his treasures at last to another past,
Ere he was in his grave!
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