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

Troy: on a lonely part of the walls.
PARIS
So, my sweet thing, a little tighter yet.
Look you, it must not rattle or some blow
Given at hazard on my knee-cap here
Would drive the thin edge in my foot.
(sighing)
My sweet thing, shall I talk or hold my tongue?

HELEN
Shall I say, Paris, that my heart is faint,
And my head sick? I grow afraid of death:
The Gods are all against us, and some day
The long black ships rowed equal on each side
Shall throng the Trojan bay, and I shall walk
From off the green earth to the straining ship;
Cold Agamemnon with his sickly smile
Shall go before me, and behind shall go
My old chain Menelaus: we shall sit
Under the deck amid the oars, and hear
From day to day their wretched measured beat
Against the washing surges; they shall sit
There in that twilight, with their faces turned
Away from mine, and we shall say no word;
And I shall be too sick at heart to sing,
Though the rough dirt-grimed mariners may sing
Through all their weariness their rowing-song
Of Argo and the Golden Fleece, and Her
That made and marred them all in a short while,
As any potter might do with his clay,
Medea the Colchian. We shall come at last
To land in Greece, and all shall cry at me,
“See her who slew the sons of Priamus,
Who threw to earth that right fair town of Troy,

Who slew full many a mother's son of Greece!
See how she walks still like a Queen! By the Gods!
Is there no faggot for her false white limbs?
No sack, wherein, close sewn and crying out,
She may roll down the steep gulfs of the sea?
Is there no butcher's knife?”

PARIS
Nay hold, my love!
And let Greek butchers butcher their own lambs,
For you are ours: and let the sea-folk roll
Their own sea-calves in sacks of woven sea-weed,
For you are ours: and let the beechen-wood
Bake bread for Greeks: seeing that you are ours.
Look Helen, hence upon our walls of stone,
Our great wet ditches where the carp and tench
In spite of arblasts and petrariae
Suck at the floating lilies all day long;
Look at the mighty barriers of fir-wood,
And look at Ilium rising over all,
Then at the few white tents and green log-huts
Of the Greek leaguer: listen too, my love
And you shall hear the muster of our men
Down in the streets, and marching toward the gates
Of many a captain. Ah! my sweet Helen,
Full many a day shall we kiss thus and thus
Before that last day when you kiss me dead,
An old man lying where the incense burns.

HELEN
Lips upon lips is surely a sweet game;
But I have ruined you, oh poor Paris,
My poor kind knight, who never for himself
Would look a yard before his sweet grey eyes;
Who taught me how to live, when long ago
I had forgotten that the world was fair
And I was fair: who made my lying down
Right peaceful to my tired heart and limbs,

Who made my waking sweet to rested eyes,
Who gave me joyful hours day by day.
In turn I give you this: no peace at all,
At best your weary anxiousness put off
So that it crushes not, pain and trouble, dear,
To you and all your kin; and at the worst—
O Paris, Paris, what care I for the Greeks?
They will not slay me, as I know full well,
And time will stay their babble and hard words.
Yea, I shall live a Queen while you lie slain—
But think of Troy with wolves about the streets,
Some yellow lion couched upon the place
Where first you called out, “Troy, love! this is Troy!”
And men all shouted, “Helen! the fair Dame!”
But on their skulls that lion shall look then
And bones of women that looked out at me
Calling out “Helen!”—bones of young children
Born in the siege, who never knew of peace:
Fair, tall Andromache gone who knows where,
And Hector fallen dead among the spears,
One man to hundreds, when the rest are slain
And Troy is burning: yea good Helenus
Slain at his altar, and Cassandra mocked,
Used like a jester, while the Grecian wine
Stains Priam's golden cups: and Priam slain,
And Troilus slain before his withered hope
Can spring afresh: Deiphobus dead, slain,
Thrust in some ditch the salt sea sometimes fills
When wind and tide are high: Polyxena,
Younger than me and fairer she is now,
Sadder therefore and longer shall she live
As some man's slave—In what way, love Paris
Will they slay you, I wonder? will they call,
“Come Helen, come to this our sacrifice,
For Paris shall be slain at the sea's foot”?
Or will they wake me from my weeping sleep
Dangling your head above me by the hair,

Then all day long send women to dress me,
And scent my limbs, and comb my hair and bathe
My dull red eyelids till they grow stone-white,
Then set me at the feast among the wine
In Agamemnon's tent, to hear them tell
Long tales about the war, and hear them sing
Right in mine ears forgotten songs of Greece?

PARIS
Sweet, will you count our love an idle tale,
A thing the years take from us day by day,
A thing that was once but forgotten now?
Love, though indeed the bitter death may come,
And unclasp both my arms from round your neck,
Yet have I lived once. Helen, when I think
The fairest thing the Gods have made will sit
Hours together with her cheek laid on mine
And praises my poor doings, and looks pale
When from the mellay something scratched I come—
Say, lets me love her—why today, Helen,
I feel so light of heart with my great joy
That I can scarce be sober—shall I say,
Half jesting, half in earnest, as I take
Your fair long hand and kiss it, that our folk,
All Trojans, would be glad to die for this?
By God, Helen, but half I deem it true.

HELEN
Do not believe it, Paris: bitterly
Death comes to all, and they have their own wives,
Own loves or children: Paris, you know not
What death can do: pray God you curse me not
When you leave off being happy—do you think
We can be happy in the end, Paris?
I shudder when I think of those fell men
Who every day stand round about Troy Town
And every night wipe the rust off their spears.
They have no thoughts of pleasure or of love;

Each day they rise to see the walls of Troy
Still stand unbreached, and in the dead of night
Awake or dreaming, still they think of it;
Unspoken vows lie coiled about their hearts,
Unspoken wrath is in their heavy hands,
They are become mine enemies, yet still
I am half grieved for their unspoken woes,
And longings for the merry fields of Greece:
They know themselves to be but ruined men
Whatever happens—Doubt not they will win
Their dreadful slow revenge at last, Paris.

PARIS
Look you my love, it is not well to boast
Of anything one has, for fear the Gods
Should take it from us: yet I pray you think
Of that great belt of Priam's sons, buckled
By shining Hector the great clasp of all:
The unfailing steadfast hearts of my brothers,
Shall they not match the fierce-eyed gloomy Greeks?

HELEN
O me! my brother Hector, kind and true,
How sweet thou art for ever unto me!
Yet sometime shall Achilles have his day:
Better a live dog than a dead lion, dear.

PARIS
Behold him coming, glancing with a smile
Down on the Grecian tents.

HELEN
Is it farewell
To both of you? Would I could weep for love!
But little ever have I used wet eyes
When hurt I have been. Where go you, sweet lords?

HECTOR
The word is, each in arms we meet straightway

In Priam's Hall, then out at gates go we;
And goodly tilting shall the Trojan dames
See from the walls: right thick the Greeks are set,
And even now the stones begin to fall
By the Scæan gates from their petrariae.
Why Paris! you look brave in arms today.
See you do well! Helen shall see your works.
Helen falls.
Helen! fair Helen!

PARIS
O my God! Hector,
What may all this forbode? She said true now,
She never wept: I never saw her weep;
But now she lies full length upon the stones
And terrible her weeping is to hear,
And terribly the sobs take half her breath:
Kneeling by Helen.
For God's sake, Helen! will you kill me, love?

HELEN
Go out and fight! I cannot speak with you,
No, no, I cannot kiss you: go, Paris.

PARIS
I will not leave you, Helen, till you do.
Tell me what ails you?

HELEN
O, Paris, Paris!
Let me lie still and leave me!

HECTOR
Come, brother!
For time presses. 'Tis better too for her;
She will weep out her full, and go to sleep,
And wake up in your arms tonight smiling.

Exeunt.

THE DEFIANCE OF THE GREEKS

A hall near the Scæan Gate, filled with lords and gentlemen of the Trojans armed; Priam sitting in a throne on the dais, and by him Hecuba, Andromache,, Polyxena, Cassandra, Deiphobus, Troilus, Helenus, and a little apart Æneas and Antenor.
PRIAM

My faithful sons, good lords and gentlemen,
Patience a little, while I tell a tale
You all have helped to make a gallant one.
Nine years ago across the wild wan waves
There came a mighty armament of Greeks,
Whom we met straightway; all my knights who fought
That morning on the sands are here, but those
Who fell asleep amid the melody
Of meeting swords; now therefore ye all know
How the Greeks won to land, while at their backs
Broke the whiteheaded waves of the Great King,
And in their faces shone King Priam's spears;
The sea fell back behind the long black ships,
And we went back and stayed within our gates,
So that they won. What won they, Sirs, but harm?
With hale and how they drew their ships ashore
And made them walls betwixt the grass and the sea;
They pitched their tents upon the soft green grass—
Their tents were white upon the green meadows
Nine years ago. They have not sapped one wall
Nor broken any barrier of Troy Town.
And they, how many of them are dead, slain
By our good spears; the autumn damps have slain
Full many a mother's son, those who are left
Keep growing gaunt and ugly as thin wolves
While we feed fat; their white wives left behind
Are childless these nine years, or take new lords
And bear another breed of hostile sons.

The houses they all loved, far off in Greece,
Are painted fresh by men they knew not of;
Within the cedar presses the gold fades
Upon the garments they were wont to wear;
Red poppies grow now where their apple-trees
Began to redden in late summer days;
Wheat grows upon their water-meadows now
And wains pass over where the water ran,
The ancient boundaries of their lands are changed.
Yet say I Sirs, and wonder as I speak,
Such strength Jove gives unto the sons of men,
All things being changed about them they change not,
Still with stiff faces set against our walls
They gaze at Troy as if no walls were there
Nor any Trojans but their proper slaves.
Hear the same message you have heard them send
Each year these nine years to the Lords of Troy.

[Enter Talthybius.]

Ho! Ho! Sir Herald of the Grecian Kings
Speak out your message fearlessly and well.

TALTHYBIUS

O Priam King of Troy, and all ye lords,
Thus sayeth Agamemnon King of men:

Give back my brother's wife! You Trojan men
Are overbold to take for your own selves
The fairest woman that the Gods have made.
Yea, when the goldsmith's crucible burns red
Snatch thence a handful of the fine red gold,
Or let Sir Paris go with naked hands
And take the yellow lion's shining teeth
To make chess-kings withal, but leave alone,
For all your pride I bid you leave alone
A Grecian Queen wife of a King of Greece.
For sweet delight and fair to look upon,
Yet deadly shall Queen Helen be to you.

Nevertheless one chance ye have of life;
Send Helen back gold-crowned and robed with gold,
And Paris with his hands in iron bonds,
And pay such tribute yearly as we fix;
So shall Troy stand and all of you do well.
Or else: so many years as we in tents
Have borne the heat and cold, so many days,
So many days the blood-red flame shall lick
The pale white marble of your palaces;
And many a thousand years the frost shall bite
Upon the places where your hearths have stood.
These nine years now upon the Trojan land
We have not seen the faces of our wives,
Therefore hereafter shall your wives, spinning
And weaving white wool in the halls of Greece,
Forget the faces of their lords we slew.
No children of our true line have we seen
These nine long years, so therefore take ye heed
This generation ye have got shall get
But Trojan slaves unto the Lords of Greece.
Behold your doom; your very name shall live
But with our story, and all men shall say
Standing upon some grass-grown mounds of earth,
That look across the sea: This was Troy Town
The Greeks threw down by help of Father Jove.

PRIAM
O Herald of the Greeks, take back these words
And tell your King and all the Grecian host
I would not listen to such speech as this
If all our walls were lying on the ground
And all our spears were broken in our hands;
Moreover say, Be ready, for today
We purpose to drive down towards the sea
These robbers now so overbold in speech.
And in reward of well remembered words
Take you Sir Herald this fair golden cup,

And if hereafter safe from all these wars
You sit an old man in the market-place,
Remember then you spoke with Priam once.

TALTHYBIUS
Long live King Priam, but in better mind
Toward my own Lord the mighty King of Men.

PRIAM
Lords, let him have some ringing in his ears:
Which of you will go fight the Greeks today?

ALL shout
Ho Priam! Priam! death to all the Greeks!

Talthybius goes. Enter Hector and Paris armed.
HECTOR
As I stood with my hand upon the lock
I heard a shout that truly seemed to me
Better than any singing I have heard.
Good lords and brave, be stiff in arms today
And never faint nor think of things to come,
Nor think of death, nor think of ease and peace,
But only think which side your blows shall fall,
Which side to press the Greeks. Look to your folk
And if ye see them faltering then press on,
Cry out aloud, say “Ho for Priam!” then,
And if ye see them gaining, still press on
Before the foremost, else shall ye be shamed:
Nor ever faint, nor think to take your ease,
Nor ever rest, for so are battles lost.
Nor are these Grecians men to play withal
But stern and stout, a good match for our best.
I say again, lords, think to take no rest,
Nor think of turning more than if there were
A deadly flaming gulf behind your backs.

And such a gulf there is, by all the Gods!
Think not to live good days if once ye flee;
To spend your money in this pleasant place;
To live at rest and peace with wife and child.
The frightened man shall have good cause for fear.
Faint not good lords, as ye love me today;
Be full of joy, trust in each other well.

TROILUS
Fair brother Hector, such sad words as these
Were fitter for some other men than we
Who never think to flee before the Greeks.

HECTOR

Fair brother Troilus and all good lords,
I said not this as unto craven men;
But when two meet, one must be slain or yield.
Yield not nor think it possible to yield,
Nor think to save yourselves to fight again
And so is all gained. Yet another word—
Fight so today to make this fight the last,
Beat back the Greeks that gather even now
Up to the gates, and smite their host in two,
Break through Ulysses at the fenced camp,
Scatter old Nestor at the ships to nought,
Light up a beacon ere the night come on
And make their ships a sea-sign unto ships.

Great Jove, I pray thee give me this today,
To break this leaguer in a single fight!
Thou knowest Jove that I would do for thee
A greater thing than this, if I were Jove
And thou wert Hector clad in mortal arms.

CASSANDRA
O Hector brother, what vain words are these?
O Latmian, let me speak or keep me blind;

Woe! Woe! Ye Trojans who believe me not,
Last night Apollo showed me a sad thing,
Hector shall die, shall die before the night.

TROILUS
Cassandra hold thy peace! Afield, afield!
Brother, afield before their cheeks grow white.

CASSANDRA
I say no! no! Press round him all ye lords,
He is your leader, if he falls ye fall.
Alas Troy falls, the pleasant city burns;
And I burn; save me from this bitter pain.

CRIES from without.
Ho Pallas! for Ulysses of the Isle!
The King of men for the Achæan folk!
Ajax, out, out! Teucer for Salamis!
Achilles for the Myrmidons of Greece!

HECTOR
Hear you? Achilles is afield; out! out!
Ho! Hector for the sons of Priamus!
Kind sister leave me, for you fight for Greece
Frightening brave lords that the Greeks cannot fright.

CASSANDRA
Come here Andromache and lay your hand
Upon his breast, your child before his feet,
And I will always hold him by the hand;
Priam and Hecuba, come here and kneel
And pray your son to spare you, and you lords
Whose blood is old and calm, make you a hedge
And stop him; verily now I do not rave,
For if he meet Achilles he shall die.

ANDROMACHE
My lord I pray you stay at home today
Or else I die; look at my tears, sweet lord,

Remember our sweet wooing, and the time
We lived together ere the Greeks came here:
And we may live for many another day
And be as happy if we can but live.

HECTOR
Go back Andromache and weep, if I
Must die today, as like enough I must;
But may not the Greek arrow find me here
Skulking and recreant; who knows what may chance
If I stay from the field? The walls are strong,
The Gods are stronger: love, I must not stay.
Farewell my sweet, but feel before you go
This horn and steel and mighty blackened hide
That many a time has thrown the iron back,
Scarce weaker than the walls of stone and lime.

ANDROMACHE
The God is strong within you O my Lord—
A bitter God he is to me I trow;
Farewell, farewell, what hope is left me?

CASSANDRA
Wretched Andromache, no hope is left,
No hope is left to me, alas alas!
What cruel pain is this! I burn with pain
Yet do not quench me in that bath of blood
Under the net; O woman, slay me not!
Will no one help me that I may live still?

ÆNEAS
Are we not going yet? this will make us fools
If we hear this for long; lady, let be!

HECTOR
Come out my friends; I hear the merry noise
Of horns and arms and feet of marching men;

Our folk are gathered. Set the doors wide then,
Be joyful, lords, nor think of any rest;
Forget this wailing sorrowful and weak,
For ye are men and fear not any chance:
I say forget all things that have been done,
Nor trouble ye your hearts to think at all
Of what may follow; for in Jove's name now
Whether I live or die I promise you
Glory and honour, yea and victory!
Trumpets blow up! fellows I bid you cry
Ho Hector for the sons of Priamus!

HECTOR'S LAST BATTLE

The fields before Troy.
The Trojan army retiring slowly before the Greeks.
AJAX OILEUS
Now for the gates, now for the walls thereto.
One charge now, come, they cannot bide us long.
Ho Greeks why march ye on so slow?
Remember you how iron is beat out
Blow upon blow when yet it is red hot.

AJAX TELAMON
Nay nay Oileus, they are not beat yet.
Keep close lads and beware how your array
Gets loosened: Ho Oileus, press on, Greeks!

HECTOR
So so, ye are heating: will you have it then?
Spears here for Hector! back with them, good lads!
Ah Ajax, 'ware my spear point! keep your feet,
And so go back. Lo there, you kneel to me!

AJAX [TELAMON]
Ho Diomed to aid! this way, this way!

TROILUS
Which way goes Diomed? which way, which way?

DIOMEDES
Here am I, Troilus; will you win ought?

TROILUS
Nay I have nought to win, and yet perdie
You may lose something, Pallas to my aid!

HECTOR
Now my good Trojans, follow Hector's spear.
Long-seeing brother Helenus, say now
If hence the Scæan gates are clear to you.
Can you see ought? The dust is in mine eyes.

HELENUS
Nay shield me Hector while I turn my back.
Lo, lo the spear points shine over the gates!
Now down they go, the door is just ajar.
Ho they are coming! Shout aloud with me
Ho room for Venus, room for Venus there!

Enter Æneas and his company running. The Trojans opening right and left.
[ÆNEAS]
For mother Venus! out ye thieves of Greece!
Behold your table spread, good fellows mine,
Feast now your full.

AGAMEMNON
Ho, bide them steadily,
These are but men. Go fellow, to the camp
And bid Ulysses run with all his folk.

The Greeks fall back.

HECTOR
O Jove, I pray that thou wouldst do for me
What well thou knowest I would do for thee,
If thou wert Hector, I were Jove today.
Ho my good fellows, follow and strike in!
They cannot hold together; ho for peace!

They charge, the Greeks are broken.
Exeunt fighting.
Enter Troilus and rout.
TROILUS
Ho you Sir Knight wearing a lady's glove,
Is Diomed a-running with the rest?
Turn with your rout and meet me if you dare!

Enter Diomed with rout.
Exeunt omnes fighting.
Enter Achilles and troops.
ACHILLES
So, so! our headstrong kings are being well beat
As they might well have thought to be: but I
No stroke have struck, nor any of my men,
Nor will we till I meet my foe alone
Or worsted somewhat by mere numbers—ah
What din and shouts! by God! I just half doubt
I might [have] done a wiser thing and helped.

They'll burn the ships and if he should come back
With no one after him but his own men
Why I must run or die. Go we aside
And lurk behind the hawthorn bushes thick
Where the fight has not been today as yet.

Exeunt.
Enter Hector with his helmet in his hand.
HECTOR
Well I have done enough today I think;
Rest, head, thou waggest merrily as yet
On Hector's shoulders. Jove, how hot it is!
Pray you O Goddess of these trodden flowers,
Keep well my hawberk and my wambeson.
Here will I rest me for a little while
Till Troilus come. Ah but he comes at once.

Enter Achilles.
ACHILLES
Caught Hector, caught! ho Myrmidons spread round!
Look now, that man there rising to his knees
Unarmed and all alone, the same is he
Has slain your kindred by the twenty: Sirs,
Can ye not shout? have ye no words for that?
I am as happy as a man can be.

HECTOR
Little thought I that I should ever pray
Not to be slain by you, Achilles: thus
Pray I this day by Jove and all the Gods.

ACHILLES
Upon your knees, my Hector, now pray out.

HECTOR
Upon my knees I pray you to spare me
For knighthood's sake, yea make me not ashamed
When I go down with Hermes 'neath the earth,
That ever in the field I met with you
As man to man. Well will you be apaid,
No ounce of gold will stay behind in Troy
If I say, Give.

ACHILLES
Hector, am I a fool
To come to Troy and suffer many things,
Forgetting Troy and all that is within,
And then when Troy lies here within my hand
Let it slip out? and yet go [on] I pray;
Your speaking is as music to mine ears.

HECTOR
O Troy and light of day farewell, farewell,
With all I fought for! Nay I will not dance
To this man's piping, nay I will not wait
Till slowly he shall come and cut my throat,
Unhelmed unfenced: yet have I my good sword.
Ho Hector for the sons of Priamus!
Who will be first of you—what, not a man
But ye behind who finger your bowstrings!
O Jove I thank thee that I die hot blood.
Ho Hector for the sons of Priamus!

The author evidently intended to write this episode.—Ed.

HECTOR BROUGHT DEAD TO TROY

The Streets of Troy near the Scæan Gates.
Many women lamenting: Enter Paris, T[roilus], D[eiphobus], Æ[neas], and others armed, with the body of Hector borne on a litter in his arms.
FIRST WOMAN
Yea as I said: such greeting as we can
We give you, lords.

SECOND WOMAN
Where were you, Troilus?
Where were you, Paris, why do you come back?

THIRD WOMAN
Nay mother, but he weeps.

SECOND WOMAN
Why dry-eyed then?

FOURTH WOMAN
Another chance, another chance today
Not ending here, Zeus! women, pray with me
He is not dead: pray that the leech may find
Some spark: where is he? Stand aside you there
Æneas from the body.

TROILUS
Good women,
Look here at me; I am your fighting man,
Best man of Troy; I fight that I may die.

FOURTH WOMAN
Gods spare the city, keep our children safe!
Cry harrow friends, let's shriek our prayers aloud.

PARIS
Ah cry aloud, but who shall hearken you,
Promise great gifts and goodly lives henceforth?
Stretch out your hands beneath the golden shrines,
Take no thought, mothers, when a child is born
How you may feed him ere a month is gone,
Take no thought, maidens, what day you shall wed,
Take no thought, children, how you shall grow up,
Take no thought, dames, which day your deathday is:
Think of today—no further, I rede you.

FIFTH WOMAN
Ah master Paris, who wrought all this work?

SIXTH WOMAN
Yea who! yea who!

[PARIS]
Good women, who but I?
Content you, I am dead or all as dead.

[A VOICE]
Die without kissing then; give back Helen.

TROILUS
turning sharply
A man said that; who backs him?

[A VOICE]
Dame Helen to the Greeks!

TROILUS
Shame, beaten hounds!
Nay friends give ear—

[A VOICE]
Dame helen back again—
Back to the Greeks!

DEIPHOBUS
Ho brother Hector, help!
They brawl here; give the word fair mouth I pray.

PARIS
(drawing)
Ulysses and you Diomedes there,
Who crowd about and give me no fresh air,
No standing place, I might say, all you Greeks
You wish to see a man die, then you shall:
Only stand back—you must slay me at last.

ÆNEAS
Alas he raves! Fair Paris, come with me.

PARIS
No prisoner, by the Gods! I will not live
To be a prisoner—

ÆNEAS
Paris, know your friends.

PARIS
Give me fresh air and I will fight it out.
Why should you grudge me space in killing me?
I never was hard, but willingly gave gifts.
You will not? see then—ah my sword is gone!

This is some dream, nevertheless with hands
(struggling)
And teeth and feet I fight for air today—
For air, and Helen with her cool soft hands
About my forehead. Helen the good dame—
Out out, ye thieves of Greece! Ah death at last.

TROILUS
Now who says Helen back again I pray?
Is this some clown who knows not what he does
Or gentle Paris driven mad with grief?
Hector is dead: ye women, back from him;

Let be your gasping, and you men, say now,
Say now who dares send Helen to the Greeks.
Where are the Greeks? where are the walls of Troy
And Priam's sons Æneas, Menon here,
Antenor, Polydamas, Pandarus?
Ask Menon where Achilles is this tide,
Who like a lion when her whelp is touched
Flew on him: Gods how the mail went atwain!
How the bones rattled! Lord Achilles cried—
Lord thief, lord traitor—Help me Myrmidons!
This man is two, each side of me he comes—
Ho fellows, strike in quick.

ÆNEAS
Yea Sirs, a word,
For my lord Troilus of himself says nought:
Into the press came Diomed softly
And like a cunning fighter, on each side
He put the strokes that met him: traversing
With little labour till his turn might chance.
Then comes my lord King Priam's youngest son,
With no hair on his face, Sirs, as you see,
Who all day long had struck the greatest strokes
And bent his knees and stiffened up his back;
But when his eye caught Diomedes' eye
He cried and leapt—crur, how the handles jarred!
“Ah Sir,” says Diomed—

TROILUS
(aside)
Nay hold thy peace:
My heart is not all steel.

[ÆNEAS]
Tush man, I know
I will but lie. “Ah Sir,” says Diomed,
“Take this for Helen on our side.” Coolly
Drawn back a little, with a measured stroke

He swung his sword as at a beechen tree
A woodman might his axe; but Troilus,
That wearied Knight, with a great straightforth stroke
Smote right across the face of Diomed
And felled him.

ACHILLES' LOVE-LETTER

Troy. Priam's Palace.
Hecuba and Paris.
HECUBA
(laying down a letter)
Paris my son, what do they in the field?

PARIS
Fair Mother, nothing.

HECUBA
Who went out today?

PARIS
I know not. Nobody I think—Glaucus—
Scarce anyone—

HECUBA
Why when did you go out?
I have not seen you armed these many days.

PARIS
A week ago I went out.

HECUBA
Where's Helen, Paris?
Why Paris, not in the field or with Helen?
What is it, my fair son?

PARIS
Sooth I forgot,
Or yesterday I should have seen her.

HECUBA
Son
What ails you? are you ill now?

PARIS
No, Mother.

HECUBA
Yet you grow thinner and your cheeks are pale,
You scarcely speak who used to be so gay;
No naming now of Helen makes you start,
You neither kiss nor fight.

PARIS
Why I am sick,
Sick unto death, nay but far worse than death—
If indeed ought is worse, for death will come,
For death will come at last.

HECUBA
For your sickness
There is some remedy perchance at hand,
If you are sick of mind and soul like me,
Sick as our fields are with the Grecian heels
Upon their hearts. I wonder though of you:
The others mostly are but glad or sad
Just as the day brings weal or woe with it,
But nothing moves you, neither some Greek slain
Nor some great lord with his outlandish men
Come to our aid with many wains of corn.

PARIS
Why should it? even in hell there is some change,
Or I suppose so—all the days are not
One quite alike another; like enough
The days are here however; fitter so,
'Tis more like hell.

HECUBA
Speak good words, fair my son.

PARIS
Mother, I say we have slipped down to hell
Not knowing it; yea each man in his place,
Houses and cattle, slaves and goods and all,
Greeks, leaguers, all have fallen into hell
Unwitting—Mother, as they sapped and breached
And we drew bow and arblast, we fell down,
And here we are, glaring across the walls,
Across the tents, with such hate in our eyes
As only damned souls have, and uselessly
We make a vain pretence to carry on
This fight about the siege which will not change
However many ages we stay here.

HECUBA
I pray you Paris, do not speak to me
As if you would shriek presently, nor look
With such fierce eyes as if you hated me.

PARIS
Mother, see now why I go not to fight:
It is no use, I tell you; yea see now
Why I cannot see Helen. I loved her
And do not wish to drive her mad with fear.
If she should weep I think I should kill her.

HECUBA
Ah times are changed: the merry days are gone

When 'twixt the east wind and the cold bright sun
You grew a stout youth on the mountain tops.
Ah times are changed: the merry days are gone
When 'twixt the sunny houses and the sun
You rode with Helen through the streets of Troy.
Ah times are changed: the merry days are gone
When sitting 'twixt the fair bed and the wall
I left you kissing Helen on the mouth.
Ah times are changed: the merry days are gone
When 'twixt the spears and blazoned shields of Kings
I watched you fighting from the walls of Troy—
Ah times are changed since first I bore you, dear!

PARIS
Mother go on and you will make me weep—
Sing to me as the nurses did of old.

She sings:

Yea, in the merry days of old
The sailors all grew overbold:
Whereof should days remembered be
That brought bitter ill to me?
Days agone I wore but gold,
Like a light town across the wold
Seen by the stars, I shone out bright:
Many a slave was mine of right.

Ah but in the days of old
The Sea Kings were waxen bold,
The yellow sands ran red with blood,
The town burned up both brick and wood;
In their long-ship they carried me
And set me down by a strange sea:
None of the Gods remembered me.

Ah in the merry days of old
My garments were all made of gold,

Now have I but one poor gown
Woven of black wool and brown.
I draw water from the well,
I bind wood that the men fell:
Whoso willeth smiteth me,
An old woman by the sea.

What, will the shrill pipe of an old woman's voice
Draw forth your tears, my merry son that was?
Weep Paris, weep that we are fallen so low
Achilles dares to write these words to me.
PARIS

What what, Mother?

(reads)

“Again I write to you
In spite of all your bitter words; again
I beg the fair Polyxena to wife”—
I wish he was in hell.

HECUBA
Read through, Paris.

PARIS
reads

“Thou knowest how many men there are with me
And how I am right strong and brave [withal]:
Lo I can save Troy—am I not the pin
That holds the axle to the tree for them?
Yea I can save Troy—will you have it saved?
And after all for this, Polyxena:
Give her me now and Troy is saved I say;
Withhold her, and by God that made my soul
She shall be brought naked before my men
And wedded to me in your very bed,
While yet my fellows set fire to your house
And both my hands are painted with your blood.
I am a plain man, hear my words: again—
Give me Polyxena in loving wise:

Then shall you see the merry eastern wind
Fill the Greek sails. Or else I swear shall be
Nothing but fire and sword on you and yours:
All men know now you cannot hold out long.”

Achilles, Troy may burn, but by Jove's head
Its flames shall never sparkle in your eyes!
O innocent and white Polyxena,
By your pure life I swear this man shall die!
O glorious Hector, by your life and death
I swear that this your murderer shall die!
O faithful good and true knight Troilus
Bright as your true love shineth evermore
In vain, ah! who shall doubt in vain, in vain!
Ah Mother mine if but one year agone
It had been said: Meet not this man in arms
But smite him unawares—I had spat out,
But now—alas! my honour is all gone
And all the joy of fight that I had once
Gone mouldy like the bravery of arms
That lie six feet under the Trojan turf.
Ah when I think of that same windy morn
When the Greeks landed with the push of spears:
The strange new look of those our enemies,
The joyous clatter, hurry to and fro,
And if a man fell it was scarce so sad—
“God pity him” we said and “God bless him,
He died well fighting in the open day”—
Yea such an one was happy I may think,
Now all has come to stabbing in the dark.

Lo I will do this for the Trojan town—
Jove give us joy of it. If the worst should come
It is but one more man to make the tale
That must be slaughtered ere the story ends.
Speak Mother, tell us how it must be done.

HECUBA
Son, I will answer these his bitter words
Saying how hard it is to yield to him
But that I cannot longer bear against—

PARIS
Amid our butchery and filth and lies
I swear by all your love this man shall die:
Fairly or foully he shall die by me.

HECUBA
Well said, my son, and he might say perdie
That whether or no he maketh peace with us
Small help shall he be to the Greeks henceforth.

PARIS
So Mother, shall I send a herald back
And challenge him to meet me in the field?
Or next day that we fight shall I go forth
And in his sight trail this most foul letter
In mire of the Trojan fields, and then
Meet spear to spear, with God to help the right?

HECUBA
Now listen son Paris, nor start aside
At what I say: did you not say just now
Fairly or foully? Dear, I fear me much
You are no match in muscles and rude skill
To this same butcher, yet he must be slain.

PARIS
How Mother, and must I turn stabber too?

HECUBA
Like begets like, Paris; he began first:
What fairness did he use with my two sons,
God curse him! and shall you stand opposite

And feel his blows fall heavier as you grow
Weaker and weaker calling upon God?
This weight of ills yet shall not be,
Have fair Polyxena sent to him there
Lest but his handmaid she become to be
And not his wife, whereby it might well come
When he was weary of her some years hence
To some Sidonian merchant oversea
She might be sold—So let him come to town
And in Apollo's temple wed with her
And with this message would I send my ring
To be true sign. Paris, you know your part—

PARIS
And in Apollo's temple her white feet
Shall creep and curdle as Achilles' blood
Across the marble glides to make them red.

HELEN'S CHAMBER

Helen, Paris.
PARIS
Another life I dreamed about, no doubt,
Shepherding sheep on Ida; other dreams
Were in my heart when Priam sent me forth,
And 'twixt the rowers in my arms I stood,
The merry sound of trumpets in mine ears
And on my face the sprinkling of the spray
When the first wave outside the harbour mouth
Ran in a green ridge up against the oars.
The feat of arms I did in Cythera,
Did that begin the life I dreamed about
And ended all my dreams of such a life
In a long dream-like year of peace and love?

HELEN
I would that all might come again, Paris,
For sometimes I grow weary, growing old.
You stay with me today.

PARIS
No, arms today:
Deiphobus thinks that something may be done
Worthy the high beginning of the siege.

HELEN
Then I shall sing that you may go merry.

PARIS
No, keep your song till I come back in peace,
And on your fingers count my slaughtered Greeks.

HELEN

Again no: someone else has armed you now
Yet you shall listen to my arming song:

Love, within the hawthorn brake
Pray you be merry for my sake
While I last, for who knoweth
How near I may be my death.
Sweet, be long in growing old
Life and love in age grow cold,
Hold fast to life, for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death.
Trouble must be kept afar
Therefore go I to the war;
Less trouble, love, among the spears
Than with harsh words about your ears.
Love me then, my sweet and fair
And curse the folk that drive me there,
Kiss me sweet, for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death.

PARIS
Tomorrow by about this time, my love,
I think I shall know that I have a hope:
I shall remember you.

HELEN
Tell me Paris,
What will you do, what will you do today,
And are you going now to slay yourself
Or throw yourself among the Grecian spears?
Life is not pleasant as it used to be,
But will you make it worse to me, Paris?

PARIS
Take off my helmet and sit down by me
And kiss me in the old way with your lips,
Holding my face between your hands again—
So like a picture nothing will make move
This seems at first; ah Helen, as you kiss
I live again! I have not lived for months.
Breathe life into my body: [as] of old
Sing sweet and let me sing, and bid your maids
Behind the arras play upon the harp—
Yet stop awhile and think—ought I to live?
Helen of Lacedaemon was my love,
Achilles of the Myrmidons I slew,
Hector and Troilus were my lief brothers,
The third lord was I in the town of Troy:
What shall I be if I should live a year
Or over deserts fleeing for my life
To Africa where Menon was a king,
Scarce life from day to day? my love shall be gone
Sitting a scolded child in Grecian halls,
And none of all my house shall be alive,
The dust of Troytown shall be blown across
The bitter waters by the cold East wind
That over Syrtes shall blow hot on me—

Alas these kisses sweet and this music
Shall be remembered but to bitter grief
When weaponless I hide me in some cave
Until the terrible lion shall be past,
And speechless, seeing I know not their tongue,
Before the blacks I kneel upon my knees
Praying for life. Yea, shall I hope for this?

HELEN
Comfort you Paris, hope for better days
And live, my sweet, live with me this one day
Merrily, sound the harps with some sweet strain:
Is not this living? lo forget all woes
And stay at home today and do not die.
Time will there be for dying after all
When the first Greek sets hostile foot in Troy.

PARIS

No time for dying then upon the walls,
No time for dying when our comrade's hand,
Laid light upon our shoulder, through the steel
Feels hot and heavy as we run to meet
The long spears of the Greeks thrust out in Troy.

I should escape and being fled from Troy
No more a Lord, should grow to such a wretch
As through all wretchedness would strive to live.
God help me—Comfort me, you say, and hope!
Three months ago I hoped for better days—
Not now, not now. And yet today, my love,
I shall not throw myself among the spears
Or on the bitter iron of my sword,
Only I have a deeming of my death.
Trust me, today my fence shall be right good,
And every buckle of my armour, love
See you it is well strained, that locked in steel
I may live over this one day at least,

And for a little live thus in your arms
With merry music such as now they sing.

HELEN
Paris my love, you break my heart I think—
And yet 'tis broken, and the music sounds,
Albeit so merry, like sweet merry bells
That set one weeping. Lo again my love
My fingers dull your shining steel harness,
And in a little all will be well done
For this ill parting. Still again, again,
Kiss me again and now I ope the door,
Lift up the curtain—will you really go?

PARIS
Farewell Helen—God keep all true lovers!

HELEN

Farewell my love.

[Paris goes.]

And he is gone at last—
Turned down and sealed the letter is at last
And shall I ever see those words again?
Ho there my maids! come with me to the walls
To see which way the fight will go this tide.

HELEN'S CHAMBER

[SECOND VERSION]

Paris, Helen.
HELEN
Paris in arms again! alas my heart!
Why go you forth to fret me? stay with me.

PARIS
I may not choose but go or lose fair fame;
All men go forth today and I with them:
Deiphobus hath hope, though I have none.

HELEN
Ah Paris, always harping on that string?
We are not worsted yet; though we have lost
Our Hector and our Troilus, no less
The terrible Achilles is but dust
And many another.

PARIS
Yea, Achilles, yea—
Would I could see thee and know how it fares
With thee and those that go beneath the earth!
Helen farewell, and have no hope for me.

HELEN
Hold thy peace Paris of such evil words!
What is thy madness—heavy dreams again?

PARIS
I have not dreamed at all of good or bad,
But on my heart a dreadful weight is laid
That nothing moves; horrible thoughts come thick
And scare me as I stand alive and well.
Yea, like some man am I that lies and dreams

That he is dead, and turning round to wake
Is slain at once without a cry for help.
Yea I am all as dead, sweet, for nothing
But even this shadow of the mighty death
Can make my life so poor a thing to have.

HELEN
Alas Paris, and death indeed is strong
When this same shadow of him can slay love.
You gaze with other eyes than you were wont,
You do not look at me, and scarce even
You speak but to yourself.

PARIS
Yea why not die?
I have seen men that did not fear to die,
Yea I myself have never feared to meet
Sharp death among the spears; I have seen men
Who said that life was nothing unto them,
They had outlived all joy and longed to die.
And what joy will be left to me, Paris,
If I should live another year on earth?
Helen of Lacedaemon was my love,
Achilles of the Myrmidons I slew,
Hector and Troilus were my lief brothers,
The third lord was I in the Town of Troy;
What shall I be if I should live a year
Or over deserts fleeing for my life,
Scarce live from day to day, my sweet love gone
Sitting a scolded child in Grecian halls?
The dust of Troytown shall be blown across
The bitter waters by the cold east wind
That over Syrtes shall blow hot on me:
And all the sweet sweet music of my life
Shall be remembered but to bitter grief
When weaponless I hide me in some cave
Until the terrible lion shall be past,

And speechless (seeing I know not their tongue)
Before the blacks I kneel upon my knees
Praying for life—Yet shall I pray for life
And so I pray, now death is come on me.

HELEN
O Paris would you have your life again
If so you might, or any piece of it?

PARIS
O Helen in such wise I cherish it
My dear sweet life, that but for death itself
I would forget death and be merry now.

HELEN
Forget it love, and as in winter cold
Folk sit about the fire and shut out
The bitter blustering east wind and the frost,
So here within my arms be merry now
A little while the last hours of your life.

PARIS
Helen farewell, for I am grown like one
Who sees across the fordless swift river
His brothers stand in arms while at his back
The clatter of the chase grows loud. Helen
You were my life and you would be my life,
But life and all is going. Hear you now
The footsteps of the captains and the cries—
Now must I go where Jove will send me to.
One kiss at last, one bitter bitter kiss,
O life and death together. Sweet Helen!

[He goes]
HELEN
Now have I lost my love!—yet perchance not;
If he comes back then will I say to him

What now I should have said: Paris, tonight
With twenty chosen men come forth with me,
Come down upon the beach and sail we forth
Where Jove shall lead us and the mighty winds,
And let the Greeks and Trojans fight their fight
Or do whatso they list, but we will live
A part from strife till we grow old and die.

Love, within the hawthorn brake
Pray you be merry for my sake
While I last, for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death.

Sweet, be long in growing old,
Life and love in age grow cold;
Hold fast to life for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death.

Trouble must be kept afar
Therefore go I to the war.
Less trouble is there among spears
Than mid hard words about your ears.

Love me then my sweet and fair
And curse the folk that drive me there,
Kiss me sweet! for who knoweth
What thing cometh after death.

THE DESCENT FROM THE WOODEN HORSE

Troy: In the Wooden Horse.
Agamemnon, Menelaus, Diomedes, Ulysses, Nestor, Ajax Telamon, Teucer, Ajax Oileus, and others.
AJAX to ULYSSES
Now may we speak? are they not gone away?
It must be dead night now. I am nigh dead:
By the Gods their stupid singing of loud hymns
Nigh made me mad, nigh was I screaming out.

TEUCER
And we heard Helen we have fought about
These ten years: sickening for a caged man
To hear her speak and not to see her face—
Gods how I burn with fever!

ULYSSES

Hist, heroes—

No words.

(listening)

[OMITTED] What is it, Prince of Ithaca?

[One sings from without]

O my merchants, whence come ye
Landing laden from the sea?

ULYSSES

Sinon I hope, but wait what followeth.

[Outside]

O my merchants, whence come ye
Landing laden from the sea?
Behold we come from Sicily,
Corn and wine and oil have we,
Blue cloths and cloths of red
Merry merchants, when you are dead
We shall gain that you have lorn.

Out, merchants from the sea
Your graves are not in Sicily;
The corn for me, the wine for thee,
The blue and the red for our ladies free.

[OMITTED] There there, 'tis Sinon—give the counter sign—
Three blows on the head, on the breast three.

ULYSSES
(striking with a hammer on the breast of the horse)
These for the fair fame that the Gods give us,
(On the head)
And these that we have gained the thing we sought.
Unbolt, Ajax, be ready with your spears,
(They open the horse)
This dark night seemeth like the bright noon day:
We are alive in Troy. Down, my sweet lords.

AJAX
(leaping down)
First man in Troy. O Jove I give thee thanks!

TEUCER
O the free merry wind and driving rain!
This is like gaining heaven after hell.

PYRRHUS
Ah did you hear them how they praised the Gods
Because the Greeks were gone?—in yonder house
They dream no doubt of walking quietly
In the sweet meads again. Shall we slay them?
I long to begin killing.

[DIOMEDES]
Soft, fair Sir,
We are not yet so many men in Troy
As to do that we will: speak not so loud.
I can tell you now, Ulysses, now we are

Here in the open air and streets of Troy,
That while we squatted in the horse's ribs
More than one time was I well nigh minded
To give a shout and use my spear on you,
So maddened was I with the hope and fear,
And ever wait and wait—but peace, fair Sir,
We are some thirty men amid our foes,
Here must we stay and hold the gate at least;
Sinon is gone to bring the others up.

[AGAMEMNON]

Then shall we finish all our bitter siege,
And this last day of ugly nightmare dreams
That vexed us in the belly of the horse
Shall be a thing to laugh at three hours hence.
The rain falls softly after the bright day
And ever from the sea the southwest wind
Blows over us from Greece where we would be.
Noiseless as this same rain has God set us
Down here in Troy, and as the steady wind
Shall we prevail.

O Trojan folk,
The end of your wrong-doing draweth near:
No crying mercy now the end is come!
Yea, is the end come of our ten years' siege.
We may go home and sit beside our wives,
And by our hearths tell all our deeds of arms:
Yea, if we never do another deed
Worthy of note in all our lives henceforth
We still have won us a right noble name,
And men hereafter may well say of us,
Whate'er the Gods send turn ye not aside,
Thus was it that the Greeks won Troy at last.

MENELAUS
There is a certain one in this doomed town
Who thinks the worst is over, and fears now

Nothing but coming eld and death at last:
I shall be as a ghost to her tonight.
Brother, fear not for me, I must away
To talk with Helen—maybe to unclasp
Her arm from round the neck of Priam's son.
O faithful friends who now so long have fought
For me and my dear right, I pray to Zeus
Your swords be sharp on this wild rainy night!

HELEN AND MENELAUS

Troy. The house of Deiphobus. Helen lying by Deiphobus who is asleep.
HELEN
How is it that I cannot sleep tonight?
Behold beside me how Deiphobus
Sleeps well, his hearty day's work being well done,
But I, I am too full of thought to sleep—
I wonder if this carefulness may mar
My shining beauty as the days go on.
Do I grow old? I wonder. Sick and hot
I feel beneath the coverlit of wool—
Better to walk upon the cool hard tiles
And feel the night air cool upon my breast,
That I may sleep at last and wake betimes,
Then help our feast upon the second day
Because the Greeks are gone, and like them too
Shall all hard thoughts be driven from my heart.
(Goes to window and opens it)
O cool night! raining, is it? I must feel
(Stretching out her arm)
Yea how the drops fall thick upon my arm—

Three hours after midnight, I should think,
And I hear nothing but the quiet rain.
The Greeks are gone: think now, the Greeks are gone.
Never again now shall I hear the cry
Of warder shouting in the Grecian tongue
Borne faint upon the fitful dying wind;
The very warders of the town are still.
O me! tomorrow how the folk will burst
Out at the gates and wonder with great eyes
Staring upon the place where Diomed
Has worn the grass away with his great tent:
How they will walk along the sounding sea
And strain their eyes in looking out for Greece
As even now I strain mine through the dark
Striving to think I see the wooden horse.
Behold the siege is done and I may sit
Holding my eyes and think of what is gone.
Henceforward a new life of quiet days
In this old Town of Troy is now for me.

I shall note it as it goeth past
Quietly as this rain does day by day—
Eld creeping on me; shall I live sometimes
In these old days whereof this is the last,
Yea shall I live sometimes with sweet Paris
In that old happiness 'twixt mirth and tears,
The fitting on of arms and going forth,
The dreadful quiet sitting while they fought,
The kissing when he came back to my arms
And all that I remember like a tale?
O Love, shall I forget thee? doubt it not
That but for minutes I shall nigh forget
What thing thy face was like. Yea even now
I mind but thee and thine growing all dim
But as a well-told tale that brings sweet tears.

I would I could remember, but for me
It shall be always so, and like a dream,

When in the old town eld shall come on me
In quiet days, shall all my beauty be.
Nor shall I much remember or regret,
Gathering the warm robe to my puckered throat,
This red and white smooth skin and tender feet;
But when I eat and drink I shall be glad
And when sweet smells float in upon the wind
In the spring weather, and when music sounds,
I may remember of these other days
And think of Paris for a little while.

(Enter Menelaus stealthily and unarmed)
They fought to gain me and are gone away
But have not taken off the heavy weight
From my sad heart: Paris my love is dead
(turning round)
And I feel waked to live another life.

MENELAUS
(touches her)
Helen!

HELEN
O God! but am I mad at last?
Who's this?

MENELAUS

Nay hold thy peace or die straightway.
This is my hand that once held yours in it—
Give me a sword—quick, reach across the bed—
Nay, or by Zeus—

(She reaches out. Deiphobus stirs in his sleep)

Who is it wallows there?
Helen you shall speak to me, but speak low,
Speak in a whisper—yet will I hear your voice—
Nay, you shall answer me or die, Helen
Say who lies there.

HELEN
Deiphobus.

MENELAUS
The hound—
Give me the sword. Ah so, was that the hilt?
—I tell your fingers by their being soft,
They are no warmer than the shapen brass:
What, your teeth chatter? I must hasten then;
Go to his feet, Helen, and hold them fast—
No knees to me, I say—go to the feet,
This head is mine now. Clasp the feet, Helen;
In the name of God I do myself this right.
(slays Deiphobus)
Paris is dead and you are dead also;
This bed hath burned you—ho come forth from it!

(drags the body out)
HELEN
Are you the Menelaus that I knew
And scarcely hated once in days gone by,
Or in God's name are you some evil thing
Sent here to drive me mad for all my sins?

MENELAUS
I am the Menelaus that you knew,
Come back to fetch a thing I left behind.
You think me changed: it is ten years ago
And many weary things have happened since.
Behold me lying in my own place now—
(lying in the bed)
A-bed, Helen, before the night goes by!

HELEN
I cannot lie there in the blood, my lord—
—I loved it once; yea smite, but slay me out

And not so with your unarmed hand, my lord.
Here give it me, feel here upon my breasts,
Smite so betwixt them with the sword I pray.

MENELAUS
Ah struggle, Helen, nought shall it avail.
Yea but I am the stronger in the wrists:
Feel the steel sword-point cold against your skin
And so lie quiet—ah but you hate me—
—I loved you once—

HELEN
May the Gods pity me
That ever you should love me! Ah that shout!

(shout from outside)
[GREEKS]
outside
The Kings! the Kings! Jove fights for us tonight!

[TROJANS]
Ho Pallas help! out, arm, good people all!
Ho bolts and bars, ho spears and bows to aid!
Ho Pallas Pallas! out, ye thieves of Greece!

MENELAUS
Helen, tonight the Gods have given us Troy;
You will see Greece again.

HELEN
My God, my God,
How happy I was once!

[TROJANS]
Troy! Troy!
To aid, ye sons of Priam!

[GREEKS]
Diomed!
Town won! town won! ho torches to the wood!
Come out ye women! God has sent you dawn

Four hours before the daylight: let us see
What fashion Trojan ladies lie abed.

[TROJANS]
Ho ho Æneas! Will you see your wives
Dragged naked through the streets? Out, out, ye thieves!

MENELAUS
Come Helen, let us see this play begun;
Soon will they burn the stage itself I trow.
(at the window)
There see Æneas with his goodly men
Stand well together—
(a Trojan shoots at them)

Ha, an arrow there,
It cut your hair through, Helen, as I think.

HELEN
(weeping)
O God they hate me!—not without due cause.
I have no help.

[TROJANS]
Come forth Deiphobus!
Come forth and lead us.

MENELAUS
Ah ye shall have him:
Behold this is but as Troy is, ye dogs!
(thrusts out body: cries from the window)
Who cometh here? Some shield and sword, Helen.

Shouts. Enter Teucer and Pyrrhus with their arms bloody. A rout of Greeks with them.
[PYRRHUS]
So Menelaus, wived again! come forth,
A brave jest truly! Well we wrought this night;
These are no beaten hounds I promise you:
Many a brave man has been sped ere this

By tiles and stones from house-tops, and they stand
Right bravely here and there as you shall see.
While Diomedes went to burn and slay
In the common streets, this Teucer here and I
Went round about and shortly here came we
To Priam's palace, burst the rotten gate:
There were the women and the old men crouched
Nigh dead with fear in Phoebus' bright temple;
But at the threshold did old Priam stand,
Unarmed but upright like a brisk young man.
Gods! when I saw the old gray-head traitor,
The thought of my dead father done to death
There in that temple wrought in such a guise
That all my blood seemed fire. I struck out,
Cursing with shut eyes, but my sword knew well
The way it had to go. I slew him there,
And all about we slew them old and young
But some few women. Noted you, Teucer?

TEUCER
Then as their screams rung all about the roof
Came Agamemnon, and he saw a hand
Clutching Apollo's foot from underneath
Some heap of women's raiment; down he stooped
And drew thenceforth Cassandra by the wrists
Who called upon the God in bitter strain.
As pale as privet was she to my eyes
Dark-haired and ox-eyed, tall and strong of limb.
Right many a bitter curse she called on him
And struggled in a mad way without hope.
So Agamemnon bore her off at last
And looking at her I saw not the rest.

(enter a Messenger)
[MESSENGER]
Ho haste Sir Knights! Æneas stands at bay
And groweth stronger. Menon is with him

And Helenus the priest. They bar the way,
And to them draw much folk and gather heart.
Needs must ye slay them, if ye will burn Troytown.

MENELAUS
Take Helen to the ships—Now Sirs go we:
I have but slain one man yet, big though he was.

(Exeunt)
CRIES
from without

Æneas and Antenor for Troytown!

Ho Greeks, why go ye back?

See here,
Is not this Diomed in the front rank? ho!

Lay on now, Trojans, for the life!

To the ships!
Æneas and Antenor—to the ships!—

ONCE MY FELL FOE

Once my fell foe worsted me;
All my honour and degree
Were as nothing on that tide.
From the field with woundes wide
Thwart a horse was I conveyed
And in his strong prison laid.
There I lay in prison strong
Many weary months and long,
And no one said good word to me.
There was a window small to see
That let in dear light to me,
With two bars was it made full fast
All unglazed: and the throstles passed
Thereby; singing in the spring
I saw many a fair brown wing
Go thereby: and the weather
How it changed: in what manner
The winds wrought within the tree!
There went the west wind fair and free,
The north wind and the south wind
And the fell east all unkind:
All these things I could espie
If I listed, and notes high
Of fifes heard I many a time,
And of harps the merry rime,
Also I saw the great gate,
And who went by early and late
If I list could I espie.
So somehow the time went by,
Till it chanced on a morn of May
In strong prison as I lay,
I heard many brass horns bray,
And wide the gates were opened.
Then to that I thrust my head
That I might see what thing there came:

Sooth to say I had no shame
If folk might see me staring there,
There was not room for all my hair,
My mouth and nose and eyes scantly
If one came close he might chance to see.
I say the gates were opened,
With horns and shouts there entered
A Lady with a great meinie
Apparelled all most royally.
So when I saw them going there
I waxed ashamed and for my state
I mourned, for there was cloth of gold
And many a guisarme; stiff and bold
In good white armour many a knight
With fair tabard duly dight,
All such things as 'longed once to me—
Yea also and so merrily
Their horns blew, I was constrained
To weep so hard as if it rained
Upon the sill.

But then with these
Between the bright sun and the trees
Came there riding that sweet thing:
At her rein did the bells ring,
Over her saddle of ivory
Fell her fair green gown so free.
Then when I saw her how she rode
A heat struck through my poor cold blood
And I forgot my poor estate,
And well thought I early and late
Will I be her knight perfay.
Thus said I, nor where I lay
Did I remember. What my foe
Would do with me I did not know
As at that time, or if I should win,
God being heavy on my sin.
But for joy of her sweet face

This despair I clean forgot,
Nought thought I of this or that
Till she had gone upon her way,
Then half awake longtime I lay—
And if I might again see her.

Within a while I heard a stir,
Round in the lock went the key,
Then came the jailor in to me;
Then spake he loud and merrily:
“Up up, Sir Knight, and leave this place.
My lord hath given you all free grace
That be knights and of good blood
Of those that lie 'twixt stone and wood
In his strong prisons.”

Nought did I say
And to and fro did my heart play
Betwixt my doubt and joy that day.
“But what, my lord,” said he then,
“Shall I shut this door again?
Love you this place so heartily
You list not leave it?” “Sir,” said I,
“I shall sing by and by
And dance for joy, I have no doubt,
That from my prison I am out:
But now my heart misgiveth me
This is a dream.” “Drink wine and see,”
Then quoth the carle with high glee;
“I trow strong wine shall make ye see,
For on this day it rains of wine:
Come eat and drink, old prisoner mine!”

Up to the great hall went I then
And there saw I right many men
Wretched and lean with garments rent,
By this great lord they had been shent:
Knights were they once as I had been

But now was their good day gone clean;
Yet that they saw the sun again
And were free now after such pain,
Their lean cheeks waxed red
And with joy their eyes sparkled.
At the dais sat that lord,
Well with cloths was dight the board,
And there was goodly wine and meat,
Thereby had many a lady seat.
And then a herald 'gan to call
With high voice throughout the hall
The style and manner and high degree
Those knights once had that stood with me,
One by one in order fair.
At last heard I as I stood there,
“Ho now for the good knight
That beareth barry black and white,
Sir Robert du Leon well he hight.”

Up to the dais went I then
Dizzily walking among men
Who gazed at me curiously.
In some gold dish I did espy
What a wretch I was to see,
My hair unkempt and all dirty,
My visage yellow as honey;
Bare at shoulder and at knee,
An old rent tabard at my back
Where all grey was gone white and black.
Slowly I walked as if with age,
Gaunt and grive of my visage,
I boiled to see how as I went
Over tables the ladies leant
For fear of fouling of their dress.
Such was my grief and my distress
When I knelt before that lord
Mine eyes always I cast down:

“Sir,” quoth he, “once my fair town
You burned with fire, and did to me
Many a foul wrong and injury:
All which I now forgive to thee
In joy that God upon this day
Has given me the fairest may
In all this world to be my wife.
God give you joy now of your life!
Go you and bathe and put on you
Weed of scarlet and of blue,
Then come and eat in this my hall,
The next day go. Take what shall fall
From God, and I shall give to you
Beside this gown of red and blue
Twenty pounds of silver bright
And all that 'longeth to a knight,
Both horse and arms.” While thus he said
The blood rose up into my head
And made me dizzy. I thought this:
I am twice beaten; he may kiss
My may upon the lips and take
Her first sweet look when she doth wake
In the merry morning, while I lie
Alone in all my poverty.
Then my heart swelled that nigh I wept,
But yet again my full heart leapt
Up to my mouth with this new thought:
Behold this morning I am brought
An idle show before my may;
It may hap on another day
That I may show her somewhat too.
So thought I and with courage new
Lift up mine eyen and beheld
That may who sat beneath the shield
Of red and blue. So steadily
I thanked him for his clemency
And went away.

When morning came
Out went I with my heart aflame
To do high deeds. The first was I
To ride of all that company;
Out rode I through the flowering trees,
And when I felt between my knees
The plated saddle once again
And heard my horse tread, I was fain
To sing old songs about my may.

You know, Sir Rafe, how day by day
The rumour of me goes: perfay
I shall be rich and great soon—well,
Tomorrow comes and many a selle
Shall empty be of Sienese,
Yet put I not much faith in these
French knights with their glittering—
John Hawkwood hath a bettering.

THE LONG LAND

Scene: Aplace that no one knows. Enter (in the dust) the Devil. He says:

Aha! my dreamer comes through the dust,
His long cloak weighing him down I trust,
I know the heart of this fellow so well,
Soft; he shall think he is in Hell.

THE DREAMER
O misery! utter misery!
I walk and walk, and still to see
The clouds of dust roll over and flee
Before the wind that sweeps by me,
The hot east wind of summer-time;
With such good thoughts as the Devil sends;
For he is a master good, and blends
In a dim grim way, the faces of friends,
Of Mother, Old Land and Love; and lends
Me a long hot land that never ends
And dust clouds that are sun-dried slime.

THE DEVIL
Aha! what think you of shady places?
Lime-shadowed founts, and blended faces,
That start at the splash of the spray of them?
What think you too of the sweeping hem
Of the delicate raiment, soft blue-grey?
Is not the Long Land better than they?

THE DREAMER
A dim voice comes from the heart of the dust
A muttering growl I scarcely trust,
Growling of fire and murder and lust.
Why should I weep who am fast in Hell?
And the folds of my cloak are blown over me

Purple and long; I was wont you see
To admire it much in the days that be
Faint and far-off, and she, ay she
Often pressed it with dainty knee,
As she bent to the wicked head of me
Her good pure lips I loved so well.

THE DEVIL
O my sweet friend, who were wont to say,
That all men went the self-same way,
Whether they went to it straight like you,
Or by round-about, struggling, puffed and blue;
Till they came to the gate, the spiked gate,
Spiked with the death-darts long and straight:
Tell me I pray if any you see
Who fought in the world like men with me.

THE DREAMER
A dim voice comes from the heart of the dust,
A snarling sneer I dare not trust—
Worse things in the world than murder and lust?
Ah! once I used to pray.
There was a place too down in the west,
Of all the land she loved it best,
Twixt sea-gulls' hall and thrushes' nest
How sweet it were, O Love, to rest!—
Alas! all gone away.

THE DEVIL
Yes you were always talking of that—
God's work was it to lie and get fat,
While the others were sweating their brown hides,
Wearily toiling each day that glides,
Wearily earning rank fat and crust,
Dismally drinking, set down in the dust,
Nothing to think of but daily bread:
What does it matter when all are dead?

THE DREAMER
A strange voice out of the heart of the dust
Hissing out lies; I have a faint trust
In the power of Love, O Devil, not lust:
I could almost pray at last.
—Yea she said, for a while to rest
With languid hands, looking into the west,
Sitting down as a bidden guest
At the feast of the sun; for a while 'twere best
And how long has that passed.

MARGARET
(in the likeness of an angel)

Let me hold his head, O Lord,
Let me smooth his cheek,
For he bears a notched sword
Though his will was weak.

You shall see how he will lie
(O! poor forehead, wrinkled now)
On my breast, how quietly
I will breathe upon his brow.

With the whisper of my wings
I will tell him tales of old,
I will show him quiet things
Meet for eyen to behold.

Nay dear Lord, but see him hold
Both his wasted arms to me;
The earth raiment fold on fold
Clogs him, driven round his knee.

Therefore, dear Lord, let him lie,
Wearied head, upon my breast,
Its faint yellow drapery
Sweetly scented give him rest,

While I sing and ever sing
Gentle songs he knew of old
And make pictures in my wing
Sweet for eyen to behold.

Till his face grow soft and mild
And the deep lines fade away,
And he look like any child
Sleeping after noisy play.

Dear Lord, what a child he is!
He seems never meant to meet
The world's scorn and cruel hiss,
All the struggle down the street.

Lord, the eyes within my wings,
I can feel their colours play
With their struggle for these things,
They so long to be away.

THE DREAMER
Some one surely draweth near—
O! my angel cometh dear,
Is God ready, will he hear?

MARGARET
Nay, speak out and do not fear.

THE DREAMER
Lord thou knowest, none so well
All that I have got to tell,
Little enough too, this in short
That I fought and ever fought,
Many things I overthrew,
So I smiled although I knew
What would come to me at last.
I used to pray it might be past

All that doubtful victory
With the sick smile of the eye
And the sense of failing nigh.
It will be good, I thought, to know
All the worst that must be so. [OMITTED]
Like a low moon on a cloudy night?
And tell me, am I saved or not;
Sins grow dim and are forgot,
And tell me plainly where is this
This strange long land—Ah Christ! a kiss—
—So now at last I am in bliss.

In Paradise.
MARGARET
(in her proper person)

You loved green, dear, down below
On the earth; so let us go
To a deep green place I know.

Is this green place enough for thee?
We will sit beneath a tree
And think how happy we shall be.

THE DREAMER

Whisper to me, Margaret
For my ears are dull, forget
Noisy things, aye closer yet.

Tell me all you came to know,
All you found out long ago,
Yes, with hands together so.

A page of the manuscript missing.

THE ROMANCE OF THE THREE WOOERS

Years agone it did befall
By a mouldering brick wall
Three knights strong and lithe and tall
Met as they had sworn to do.
The first knight had a lady's shoe
In his hand, a shoe of gold;
The second had a silken fold
Shredden from a lady's dress;
But the third knight bore a tress
Just the colour of the corn,
From a lady's head 'twas shorn.
The first knight had about his head
A covering of russet red
That wrapped about his helm and crest,
And a red cloth on his breast,
So what his cognisance might be
The others could not lightly see.
The second knight had got no crest
Nor any bearing on his breast,
Plain linen, plain steel only, quite
Without device and only white.
The third knight wore upon his head
Two lilies, one was white, one red,
Likewise on his green surcoat he
Carried a purple-leaved lily.

That wall choked up with weeds and mould
Was the rampart of a castle old
Quite ruined now, but verily
Eld had not caused it so to be,
Indeed petraria-stones you saw
Had crashed through every window and door,
Besides through all the weedy court

Were scattered bones of men that fought
In that grim battle long ago—
Yea man had caused it to be so.
The slope of grass the knights sat on
Covered the bones of those that won
In that grim fight; moreover you
Could see hard by cat-towers two
The victors left behind them there;
They rotted in the autumn air.
An aspen-wood did grow close by
In which the trees hung all awry
Half fallen, yet they could not die,
Though summers since this way they fell,
The other trees propped them so well.

I think you wish to know from me
Something of this strange company,
Then listen: three years ago these three,
Wandering from whose court know I not
Nor from what land, nor know I what
Their friends said to them when they went.
Now these three were at first content
To have adventures such as might
Befall to any errant knight,
Until one morning at the dawn
Each one awaking found a torn
And bloody parchment on his mouth
And all their faces turned round South.
These scrolls were writ in black and red
And the same legend each one said,
“By that which touches either cheek
Go Southward and the Gold Land seek.”
—Truly red blood was on each cheek.

Then rose they up with heavy cheer
And bathed them in a fountain near;

They could not wash that stain away,
It drove them onward day by day
Through many unknown lands till they
Heard rumours of a golden land,
And great men bowed at their command.
Joy grew within them when they found
That they would be so well renowned,
Arm linked in arm they would walk now
With straight drawn lips and unmoved brow,
They pitied those they chanced to see
Not being as they a mystery,
And going Southward nearer drew
To the Golden Land, as they well knew.

At last one morn of autumntide,
As thinking high things they did ride,
They came unto an aspen-wood
Where strange things nowise understood
Lay carved in stone their way beside.
A little further did they ride
That morning of late autumntide
And came out in a wide clear space
And there saw midways of that place
The Castle of the Golden Land.

Christ, it was hard to understand:
Each looked the other in the eyes,
Each saw no trace of wild surprise—
No sign of rage nor of distress,
Nothing but mere blank hopelessness.
They sat down on that slope of green
Where lay the dead men's bones between
The soft grass and the inner fire,
They seemed to have no one desire
Not e'en for death, till the eldest knight
Who was yet young—Sir John he hight—
He said, “The bones lie in the court,

But did all die there where they fought,
Did none escape and freely rove?
—Knights, have ye ever been in love?”
They said not nay, they said not yea,
Then said he, “Knights, I have a way
To try if God be wholly bad
To us and we to him—yea sad
It may be in the aftertime—
To us it must be sad—now climb
With me this battered rampart-wall,
Link hands and swear together all.”

They stood together, said no word
For many minutes, then a bird
Whose head and legs were yellow, sat
Upon a tower; he looked fat
Because he puffed his feathers so
To screen him, for the wind did blow
Cold and full east—but he was thin:
They thought he looked like a great sin.
Sir John held up his hilt to kiss
Then said, “Now by Christ's cross swear this
That we three different ways will rove,
Search heartily for a true love,
But when three years have passed by
Come here again to live or die;
For whoso loveth happily
Those three years through, the same shall die,
Him and his love, yea verily
If so it happen to us all
Likeways we and our loves shall fall.”

They swore with curled lips and straight brow,
The loathly bird that stood just now
Upon the tower-top did shrink
To his right size, croaked, gave one blink

And then let fall his yellow head
On his yellow neck and he was dead.
Natheless his body hung up there
Till all the bones were white and bare.

So when three years had passed away
The knights came as they swore that day
Back to the dismal castle-wall,
And each one to tell his love and all
His victory or defeat and fall.

ST AGNES' CONVENT

St Agnes' convent by the merry sea
That dashes on the shore of Brittany,
The tower that held our great bell, slim and red,
The deep-sunk fearful moat that the sea fed
Twice in a day; the fair churchyard and good
And therein over all the blessed rood,
Mary and John and soldiers with gilt spears
Stone-grey and moveless through these many years;
The hanging yellow flowers in the Church;
The watching from the walls the perilous lurch
Of the o'erladen dromond as it turned
To enter the glad harbour where there burned
Those three coal fires every windy day;
The strong west wind that drove the summer hay,
Driving my hair too all about my face;
That writing-room, each slim nun at her place
Specking the vellum with the red and black;
Our fireside converse wherein was no lack
Of talk about the world, of such a knight
And how he sped, who was held most bright
Of the court ladies, Arthur's wars and deeds—
Yea I remember setting sunflower seeds
When willow trees were red, I watched them too
When these were grey and waning; just a few
Great bees about me humming all their best
And in that good time every thing had rest—

Gone, gone, Iseult! the happy days of old
Are vanished as a little tale is told:
The gay uprising, the glad lying down
Are gone for ever. To a painful frown
My brows draw when I sleep, for though I fall
Yards, fathoms down in dull dreams, not at all
Do I the less know what I am and what
I want and shall not get; my hands are hot
And moist this wretched day, though the cold wind—

Cold rain—cold air loves well enough to wind
And curl my body like a withered leaf—
This is enough. Moreover, like a thief
Comes creeping through a dark house in the night,
My woe comes on me when I think I might
Be merely wretched with the wind and rain,
But not for any moment will my pain
Grow softer even. Ay turn the mirror, let
Me see Nantes City with its streets afret

PALOMYDES' QUEST

About the middle of the month of June
Sir Palomydes rode upon his quest,
Twixt sunrise and the setting of the moon:
Beast Glatysaunt did give him little rest

At midday, and at midnight must he sleep,
And still the beast trailed on unceasingly
Waking strange echoes in the forest deep,
Leaving strange scales on many a bush or tree.

So the days went and no lovesickness came
O'er the knight's heart to weaken it or bow
His head; he rode on with the same
Set purpose still in his unwrinkled brow.

Until one day when that he rode thinking
Whether the beast as they met face to face
Would turn to fight him with a sudden spring,
Or creep away and whine in some dark place

Until he bound his jaws and led him out—
And then he thought until his heart grew hot
Of how the folk would laugh and sing and shout
As he should lead the beast through Camelot,

The heralds crying, “Ho good people, see!
For this is Palomydes the good knight
Who hath achieved his quest most gloriously
And won the Questing Beast in open fight!”

Thereat in sooth he almost seemed to be
There in the streets with all the bells ringing
And all the folk at window him to see,
Damsels and minstrels ready for to sing.

Almost he heard the praises of the King
And Launcelot saying “Now beyond all doubt
Is Palomydes the best knight living
Though Lamorak and Tristram are most stout.”

Abroad from thence the bruit shall go of me,
And many a lord shall say, “Hold we high feast;
Tomorrow an uncouth sight shall we see:
Here cometh Palomydes and his beast.”

And so to Cornwall shall I come at last—
But saying this he sighed, for well he thought:
When all this noble fame has been compassed
Shall Iseult's love be nearer to me brought?

Now at that time the forest thinner grew
On the left hand, and all between the trees
The light of the green fields began to show,
And ever fresher blew the western breeze,

On either side of him the thrushes sang
And as he drew his rein it seemed to him
That from some far-off tower the bells rang.
So he passed on to that great forest's rim

And then beneath him by the meadows fair
With their broad acres of the good green wheat
Starred with the blood-red poppies burning clear,
There sat he, and the smell of hay came sweet

Upon the wind and therewithal the chimes
Uncertain as the kisses of a maid
Sang out their tale in sweet outlandish rymes
Hard to remember. Therefore down he laid

His bridle, and he cried, How fair, how fair,
You walk within the summer gardens[OMITTED]
O bright Iseult!—having but little care
For Palomydes, as I full well know.

BALLAD

There were two knights rode together,
At their backs a great meiné
They were in the fair English land,
Muckle joy had they.

Fair Sir, I am old and my eyen are weak,
Your eyen are clear and keen,
I pray you name me well yon bird
Fled over the meadows green.

Whether was it a good storm-thrush
Or a jay with a blue wing,
Was it one of the birds that sing fair lauds
When the greves are green in spring?

Yon bird it was no missel-thrush
Or jay with a blue wing;
O let harrow and well away
To the song that it doth sing.

Yon was an evil maggot-pie,
He bodeth us treie and tene,
I would I had seen some other bird
Betwixt the greves green.

Though we have come safe home again
And our hap has been but good,
Cry not Ho, the old saw saith,
Till you are out of the wood.

They rode so long till the mirk night
Came over the country side;
They said one to another,
I would some house might betide.

O whatten a light is yon great light
That maketh the heaven red?
It is na the light of torches
For all men are fast abed.

O whatten a light is yon great light?
The sun was down six hours ago.
No doubt in some carle's homestead
The red cock doth crow.

O whatten a light is yon great light?
The moon was down an hour ago.
O yon is the bonny house of Skreehope
That burneth all in a red low.

O whatten staves are yon great staves?
They seem right great agen the low.
O yon are the spears of the fause Scots:
Cry, Mary my help for Skreehope ho!

Gin we had no fear of the French glaives
Little fear have we of the Scotch spears.
I should never see such a deadly fray
Gin I should live an hundred years.

Many a Scot was overthrown
And laid dead on the earth cold,
But our Englishmen were put aback
Though of their hearts they were full bold.

There was the lord of Skreehope slain,
And Sir John of Fulton was led away.
Skreehope House has been full cold,
None dwells there syne that day.

WE HAVE DONE ALL THAT MEN COULD DO

We have done all that men could do
But lie here in the dust at last,
For ye were many, we were few,
Our battles and our lives are past.

Fear nothing then but strike the blow;
Be merry now from day to day—
Your enemies are lying low,
Fear not the Gods so far away.

What can our curses now avail,
We lying here unarmed and bound,
If prayers were nought to turn the scale
When swords were whole and mail was sound?

Ye shall grow great: your old defeat
Shall be but part of your renown—
O brave, so many a loss to meet
And still to rise when smitten down!

SAINT GEORGE

Such careless thoughts as maids will have, she had
In other days, when passing on that way
Toward the small chapel: there with heart right glad,
Because joy filled her, would she often pray.

Indeed I know in those days there was nought
That Sabra needed: so for utter love
She prayed: nor broke thereby one happy thought
That pleased her heart, pure as a grey-winged dove.

But now she thought it hard to think of God;
Although her lips kept muttering as she went,
“God help! Christ help!” Her footsteps as she went
Seemed heavy to her, and her head was bent

Down to the road. That morning she would walk,
Although they brought a litter hung with gold
And soft with cushions; when she heard them talk
Low-voiced why these were black—“nay on the mould

I walk a ghost,” she said, “on this last day.”
Although of old for very daintiness
She loved soft cushions and fine food, this may
Went golden-shod afoot in her distress.

Her head down to the ground a little drooped,
Her loose hair combed out thin on either side,
Beneath a scarlet mantle furred she stooped,
A thin white kirtle clad her like a bride.

There were no women with her; but tall men
This side and that plodded with heavy tread:
Armed close and clean with steel they were, as when
In bitter fight the guisarme skins the head

TWAS IN CHURCH ON PALM SUNDAY

Twas in Church on Palm Sunday
Listening what the priest did say
Of the kiss that did betray,

That the thought did come to me
How the olives used to be
Growing in Gethsemane:

That the thoughts upon me came
Of the lantern's steady flame,
Of the softly whispered name,

Of how kiss and words did sound
When the olives stood around,
While the robe lay on the ground.

Then the words the Lord did speak,
And that kiss in Holy Week
Dreams of many a kiss did make:

Lover's kiss beneath the moon—
With it sorrow cometh soon,
Juliet's within the tomb,

Angelico's in quiet light,
Mid the aureoles very bright
God is looking from the height.

There the monk his love doth meet:
Once he fell before her feet
Ere within the Abbey sweet

He, while music rose alway
From the Church, to God did pray
That his life might pass away.

There between the angel rows
With the light flame on his brows,
With his friend, the deacon goes:

Hand in hand they go together,
Loving hearts they go together
Where the Presence shineth ever.

Kiss upon the death-bed given,
Kiss on dying forehead given
When the soul goes up to Heaven.

Many thoughts beneath the sun
Thought together: Life is done,
Yet for ever love doth run.

Willow standing 'gainst the blue
Where the light clouds come and go,
Mindeth me of kiss untrue.

Christ thine awful cross is thrown
Round the whole world, and thy Sun
Woful kisses looks upon.

Eastward slope the shadows now,
Very light the wind does blow,
Scarce it lifts the laurels low;

I cannot say the things I would,
I cannot think the things I would,
How the Cross at evening stood.

Very blue the sky above,
Very sweet the faint clouds move,
Yet I cannot think of love.

BLANCHE

Broad leaves that I do not know
Grow upon the leaves full low
Over them the wind does blow.

Hemlock leaves I know full well,
And about me is the smell
That doth in the spring woods dwell.

And the finch sings cheerily,
And the wren sings merrily,
But the lark sings trancedly.

Silv'ry birch-trunks rise in air
And beneath the birch-tree there
Grows a yellow flower fair.

Many flowers grow around
And about me is the sound
Of the dead leaves on the ground.

Yea, I fell asleep last night
When the moon at her full height
Was a lovely, lovely sight.

I have had a troubled dream,
As I lay there in the beam
Of the moon a sudden gleam

Of a white dress shot by me,
Yea, the white dress frighted me
Flitting by the aspen tree.

Suddenly it turned round,
With a weary moaning sound
Lay the white dress on the ground.

There she knelt upon her knees
There, between the aspen trees,
O! the dream right dreary is.

With her sweet face turned to me
Low she moaned unto me
That she might forgiven be.

O! my lost love moaned there,
And her low moans in the air
Sleepy startled birds did hear.

O! my dream it makes me weep,
That drear dream I had in sleep
At the thought my pulses leap;

For she lay there moaning low
While the solemn wind did sough
While the clouds did over go.

Then I lifted up her head
And I softly to her said,
Blanche, we twain will soon be dead.

Let us pray that we may die,
Let us pray that we may lie
Where the softening wind does sigh,

That in heaven amid the bliss
Of the blessed where God is
Mid the angels we may kiss;

We may stand with joined hands
Face to face with angel bands:
They too stand with joined hands.

Yea, she said, but kiss me now
Ere my sinning spirit go
To the place no man doth know.

There I kissed her as she lay,
O! her spirit passed away;
Mid the flowers her body lay.

What a dream is this of mine:
I am almost like to pine
For this dreary dream of mine.

O dead love, thy hand is here,
O dead Blanche, thy golden hair
Lies along the flowers fair.

I am all aweary love
Of the bright blue sky above,
I will lie beside thee love.

So over them, over them ever
The long, long wind swept on,
And lovingly, lovingly ever
The birds sang on their song.

See Life I, 58, where Mr. Mackail suggests some word like “ground” for “leaves.” Another suggestion would be to alter “upon” to “among.”

WINTER WEATHER

We rode together
In the winter weather
To the broad mead under the hill;
Though the skies did shiver
With the cold, the river
Ran, and was never still.

No cloud did darken
The night; we did hearken
The hound's bark far away.
It was solemn midnight
In that dread, dread night
In the years that have passed for aye.

Two rode beside me,
My banner did hide me
As it drooped adown from my lance;
With its deep blue trapping,
The mail over-lapping,
My gallant horse did prance.

So ever together
In the sparkling weather
Moved my banner and lance;
And its laurel trapping,
The steel over-lapping,
The stars saw quiver and dance.

We met together
In the winter weather
By the town-walls under the hill;
His mail-rings came clinking,
They broke on my thinking,
For the night was hush'd and still.

Two rode beside him,
His banner did hide him,
As it drooped down strait from his lance;
With its blood-red trapping,
The mail over-lapping,
His mighty horse did prance.

And ever together
In the solemn weather
Moved his banner and lance;
And the holly trapping,
The steel over-lapping,
Did shimmer and shiver, and dance.

Back reined the squires
Till they saw the spires
Over the city wall;
Ten fathoms between us
No dames could have seen us
Tilt from the city wall.

There we sat upright
Till the full midnight
Should be told from the city chimes;
Sharp from the towers
Leapt forth the showers
Of the many clanging rhymes.

'Twas the midnight hour,
Deep from the tower
Boom'd the following bell;
Down go our lances,
Shout for the lances!
The last toll was his knell.

There he lay, dying;
He had, for his lying,
A spear in his traitorous mouth;
A false tale made he
Of my true true lady;
But the spear went through his mouth.

In the winter weather
We rode back together
From the broad mead under the hill;
And the cock sung his warning
As it grew toward morning,
But the far-off hound was still.

Black grew his tower
As we rode down lower,
Black from the barren hill;
And our horses strode
Up the winding road
To the gateway dim and still.

At the gate of his tower,
In the quiet hour,
We laid his body there;
But his helmet broken,
We took as a token;
Shout for my lady fair!

We rode back together
In the winter weather
From the broad mead under the hill;
No cloud did darken
The night; we did hearken
How the hound bay'd from the hill.