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

Then swiftly down the stairs she ran
And reached the garden; but her fears
Brought shouts and thunder to her ears,
That were but lazy words of men
Full-fed, far off; nay, even when
Her limbs caught up her flying gown
The noise seemed loud enough to drown
The twitter of the autumn birds,
And her own muttered breathless words
That to her heart seemed loud indeed.

Yet therewithal she made good speed
And reached the fountain seen of none,
Where yet abode her friend alone,
Watching the sleeper, who just now
Turned in his sleep and muttered low.
Therewith fair Agnes, saying nought
From out her hand the letter caught;
And, while she leaned against the stone,
Stole up to Michael's side alone,
And with a cool, unshrinking hand
Thrust the new scroll deep in his band
And turned about unto her friend;
Who having come unto the end
Of all her courage, trembled there
With face upturned for fresher air,
And parted lips grown grey and pale,

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And limbs that now began to fail
And hands wherefrom all strength had gone,
Scarce fresher than the blue-veined stone
That quivering still she strove to clutch.

But when she felt her lady's touch,
Feebly she said: “Go! let me die
And end this sudden misery
That in such wise has wrapped my life.
I am too weak for such a strife,
So sick I am with shame and fear;
Would thou hadst never brought me here!”

But Agnes took her hand and said:
“Nay, Queen, and must we three be dead
Because thou fearest? all is safe
If boldly thou wilt face Sir Rafe.”

So saying, did she draw her hence,
Past tree and bower and high pleached fence
Unto the garden's further end,
And left her there and back did wend,
And from the house made haste to get
A gilded maund, wherein she set
A flask of ancient island wine,
Ripe fruits and wheaten manchets fine,
And many such a delicate
As Goddesses in old time ate,
Ere Helen was a Trojan queen;
So passing through the garden green
She cast her eager eyes again
Upon the spot where he had lain,
But found it empty, so sped on
Till she at last the place had won
Where Cecily lay, faint, weak and white
Within that fair bower of delight.

Her straight she made to eat and drink,
And said: “See now thou dost not shrink
From this thy deed; let love slay fear
Now, when thy life shall grow so dear,

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Each minute should seem loss to thee,
If thou for thy felicity
Couldst stay to count them; for I say,
This day shall be thy happy day.”

Therewith she smiled to see the wine
Embraced by her fair fingers fine,
And her sweet face grow bright again
With sudden pleasure after pain.

Again she spoke: “What is this word
That dreaming, I perchance have heard,
But certainly remember well;
That some old soothsayer did tell
Strange things unto my lord the King,
That on thy hand the spousal ring
No Kaiser's son, no King should set,
But one a peasant did beget—
What say'st thou?”

But the Queen flushed red:
“Such fables I have heard,” she said;
“And thou—is it a scathe to me,
The bride of such a man to be?”

“Nay,” said she, “God will have him King;
How shall we do a better thing
With this or that one than He can;
God's friend must be a goodly man.”

But with that word she heard the sound
Of folk who through the mazes wound
Bearing the message; then she said:
“Be strong, pluck up thine hardihead,
Speak little, so shall all be well,
For now our own tale will they tell.”