The Collected Works of William Morris :: :: University of Virginia Library

There Michael by the mill-tail lay,
Watching the swift stream snatch away
His float from midst the careless dace;
But thinking of the thin, dark face,
That yesterday all men he saw
Gaze at with seeming love and awe;
Nor had he, wondering at the lords,
Lost one word of the housewife's words;
And still he noted that the King
Beheld him as a wondrous thing,
Strange to find there: so in his heart
He thought to play some royal part
In this wild play of life, and made
Stories, wherein great words he said,
And did great deeds in desperate fight.
But midst these thoughts there came in sight
He who had carried him of yore,
From out the woodman's broken door,
Dressed like a king's man, with fine gold
Touching his hard brown hands and old,

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So was his sleeve embroiderèd;
A plumed hat had he on his head,
And by his side a cutting sword
Fit for the girdle of a lord;
And round his neck a knife he bore,
The hilt whereof was figured o'er
With green leaves on a golden ground,
Whose stem a silver scroll enwound;
Charged with these letters, writ in black:
Strike! for no dead man cometh back!

The boy gazed at him earnestly,
With beating heart, as he drew nigh.
And when at last he drew his rein
Beside him, thought that not in vain
His dream might be. But Samuel
Below his breath said: “Surely well
Shalt thou fulfil thy destiny;
And, spite of all, thou wilt not die
Till thou hast won the archèd crown?”

But with that word he lighted down,
And said aloud: “Lad, tell to me
Where the good miller I may see,
For from the King I come to-day,
And have a word of his to say;
I think, indeed, concerning thee,
For surely thou his lad must be.”

Then Michael leapt up, nor took heed
Of how the nibbling dace might feed
Upon the loose ends of his bait.
“Fair sir,” he said, “my sire doth wait
Until men bring his mare from grass,
For to the good town will he pass,
Since he has need of household gear;
Follow, my lord, the place is here.”

Withal, the good steed being made fast,
Unto the other side they passed,
And by the door the miller found,

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Who bowed before him to the ground,
And asked what he would have him do.
Then from his bosom Samuel drew
A scroll, and said: “Good friend, read here,
And do my bidding without fear
Of doing ill.”

“Sir,” said the man,
“But little lettered skill I can;
Let my dame come, for she can read
Well-written letters at good need.”

“Nay, friend,” he said, “suffice it thee
This seal at the scroll's end to see,
My lord the King's; and hear my word,
That I come hither from my lord
Thy foundling lad to have away
To serve the King from this same day.”

Downcast the miller looked thereat,
And twisting round his dusty hat,
Said: “Well, my lord, so must it be,
Nor is he aught akin to me,
Nor seems so: none the less would I
Have left him, when I came to die,
All things I have, with this my mill,
Wherein he hath no 'prentice skill,
Young as he is: and surely here
Might he have lived, with little fear,
A life of plenty and of bliss.
Near by, too, a fair maid there is,
I looked should be good wife to him.”