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74

CHARLEMAGNE'S DAUGHTER.

Aix lay asleep; the window-gaps of light
All shut save one,—roof, tower and bastion black.
Great Charles's palace loomed against a flight
Of rolling darkness fringed with flying rack,
Like a magician's barque that drives forthright
Through wave-upheaving winds with level track:
Sole in the spiry glooms one ray remote
Pierced the tall scarp and shuddered on the moat.
A true-born slip, I ween, of Pepin blood
Was she who called that maiden bower her own:
A stone's throw from the palace, there it stood,
A little miracle of carven stone—
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A younger Sibyl's watchtower o'er the flood
Beyond the courtyard elm-tree, all alone;
Where she might idle all unvexed, or read,
Or watch the stars, or ply the storied brede.
And there she sat that night, an empire's pearl—
Emma, the darling, fairest, dearest, last
Of all the old lion's brood. A blithe-eyed girl
Lay nestling at her feet with glance upcast
Under her plaited wealth of golden curl,
Watching the while what fleeting daydreams passed
Cloudshadow-like athwart her lady's brow,
And lips in silence eloquent even now.
Fronting the fire she sat, half disarrayed,
On a low bench, and with her coronet
Testing the dazzle of its gems she played,
Eyed it askance at armslength now, or set,
Golden on locks as golden of her maid;
Her sad eye glistening with a proud regret:
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Ah, might she thus slip all the hoops of state
And win the freedom of her menial's fate.
“Yea,” quoth the Princess, “I am all alone!
“My sire forgets the sweet days of his youth,
“And claims my heart's love-offerings for his own.
“The old grey warrior deems that maiden truth
“May thrive on snow, and bud for aye unblown
“Like yonder sculptured roses! Love and ruth
“He scarce remembers even as things that were—
“Fled wholly, like the raven from his hair!
“Look at this thumb-ring, with its emerald gem,
“He gave me but this morn;—a sovereign charm,
“He told me, to true maidens. Why, the hem
“Of robe of mine hath virtue that would warm,
“I ween, Alraschid's whole green diadem,
“And bid it blush true ruby with alarm!
“O could he read me! Why am I thus fair?
“Will the red blood run white with all his care?
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“Child! I could dance away John Baptist's head
“From any Herod in my father's hall—
“Drain the old hoards of dynasties, and tread
“Under my feet their crowns and purple pall,
“With half my beauty! Lo, I ask for bread—
“He answers with an emerald to my call!
“Yet must I love him—love him though he tear
“All love from life, save love in love's despair!
“O, I could groan for yearning when I hear
“His voice among the yew-trees, and he calls
“Emma, his darling, while the big round tear,
“Wrung from the weariness of king-craft, falls
“Through his thin fingers as his child draws near!
“His child! Ay me, 'tis there the kindness galls!
“Were he less dear I might be happier; now
“I love him and am loved. Ah, mercy! how?
“Loveless!” Her head dropped down upon her hand,
And tranced she sat in passion of mute woe,
78

A queenly star-struck Melancholy, scanned
The while by pleading eyes that seemed to know
Somewhat, yet scarce the whole could understand.
“Loveless, mine own dear lady! Is it so?
“My Wilhelm chanced to see you in the yard
“Talking, or so it seemed, with Eginhard,
“Haply on some state-business?”—“Well, what then?”
Quoth Emma, “Is it some portentous thing
“For a king's child to speak? 'Tis like these men!
“They can't even see one talking, but they wring
“Some left-hand meaning from it, and unpen
“A herd of bleating scandals! If the king
“Had sent old grand-dam Alice, they're so wise
“They'd swear 'twas some brisk courtier in disguise!
“What! talking with her pedagogue at noon—
“And in the courtyard? O these lovers' schemes!
“Why, the next step is parricide! How soon
“Your Wilhelm spies it all! I'd swear he deems
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“My Euclid lessons rarely opportune
“For lovers' converse, and my tasks and themes
“One long first conjugation in their sense—
“Amo, amas in every mood and tense!
“Trust him, he knows it all! A woman's heart
“Is easy as his alphabet to read
“To Wilhelm's amorous wit! We act our part,
“But he, he knows us!”—Quoth the maid:“Indeed,
“He marked not you but him, and saw him start
“Like a deer arrow-stricken in mid-speed
“To find such watchful eyes so near, and straight
“Bade you adieu and vanished through the gate.
“What! love the Notary,—you? My Wilhelm knows
“Your kin too well to dream it! Why, to-day
“He served at supper, when a talk arose
“Among the peers what emperor should pray
“Your hand in wedlock, and he heard propose
“Him of Arabia one, and one Cathay:
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“Till last my lord spoke, frowning o'er his wine—
“”Emma, my daughter, weds not!—she is mine!”
“And you to love the Notary? Overbold
“Were he who dreamed it! Yet if all be true,
“As true I ween it is, that Wilhelm told
“Of what he saw, this Eginhard loves you!
“What think you?”—But her lady's eyes were cold
And her lips silent. Then anon she threw
Her weary arms into the air—“'Tis late!
“Good night—I am weary of this prate.
“Come to me early!”—In a dreamy mood
Twisting around her head the golden maze
Of plaited locks awhile the maiden stood;
Folded her scarf before the ruddy blaze,
Then donned at last her sandal-shoon of wood
And left the warm hearth with a lingering gaze.
“Good night!”—and forth, one aguish Ave said,
She pattered to the palace home to bed.
81

The Princess shot the bolt, and shivering knelt
A few brief holy moments;—but they wrought
No hope, no solace. All alone she felt
In the wide world. “What boots it,” thus she thought,
“This emptiness of empire? I would melt
“Yon crownal into chessmen, tread to nought
“These stony gauds of glory for the power
“To love and be loved but for one brief hour.
“Father! Is he a father, who thus dares
“Trample his children's heart's-life in the dust?
“And yet—I know not! Eginhard! He wears
“A courtier's aspect, as a courtier must.
“Yet Wilhelm deems he loves me!—loves and bears,
“Haply, this same sad fardel of mistrust.
“O, dost thou love me? I am all unblest,
“Loved or unloved; yet men should know men best,
“And Wilhelm”—but even then a hurried knock
Rattling the latch called back her vagrant thought
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To the blank present, and around her smock
Hastily flinging a loose scarf, she sought
The chamber door, and one hand on the lock—
“Well, child, what is it? Why, you might hav brought,”
She said, half-vexed, “that same John Baptist's head,
“To call me here at midnight from my bed!”
But a voice answered:“'Tis not Ermengilde—
“I bear you here a message from the king!”
She started, trembling. That low whisper thrilled
Through her whole being, and a sudden sting
As of one caught in treason unfulfilled
Shot through her veins. “What message do you bring?
“And who are you?” she asked. One might have heard
Her heart the while beat like a prisoned bird.
And the voice answered:“Eginhard,—I bear
“A message to his daughter from my lord.
“Prithee, unmake the door!—The chill night-air
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“Cuts through the cloudy darkness like a sword.”—
“Say on!” she answered, but his ear was ware
Of a strange tremulous falter in the word,
And in a louder tone he made reply:
“Haste thee,—unmake the door! The watch is nigh,
“And they will slay me should they take me here!
“Hearken,—mayst hear their tramp! By heaven, wouldst kill
“One who hath held thy father's life so dear?
“If thou must deal me death, were't well to spill
“My blood upon your threshold? Quick! Dost fear
“Lest slanderous tongues should babble aught of ill?
“How, when the captains hear yon ruffians prate
“Of whispering courtiers pinioned at your gate?”
With that she drew the bolt and let him in,
And closed the door behind him as the watch
Clanked past the bastion-angle with a din
Of iron-clashing heels. She even could catch
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A hoarse low burden chanted,“Ill to win,
“And ill to win!” as breathless, hand on latch,
She stirred not till they past, and silence fell
More dread than clamour in her maiden cell.
She turned as if to speak. The lantern stood
With its long candle glimmering by the chair,
Arras and broidered couch and ivory rood
And dizzy floor-mosaic, all were there,
And he—that Presence!—all the fugitive blood,
Dismayed to front the invader unaware,
Bounded o'erthronging to the citadel;
Once the heart quaked and all amort she fell!
In dread misgiving, as if suddenly
He saw an angel out of heaven drop dead,
The love-lorn lover cushioned reverently
That living corse of beauty on the bed,
And clasped the marble fingers:—“Can she die?
“Jesu have mercy on us both!” The head
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Stirred, or he thought it stirred; then all was still
Save the great raindrops dripping on the sill!
Again he chafed her hands, and with wild words
Pleaded in ears that heard not. “Speak to me,
“Mine own love!—dearest!” and the drops, like swords
Stabbing his heart, made answer, two and three.
“Emma!”—the hand, as if it sought her lord's,
Slipped from the pillow, clasping helplessly,
And the eyes opened, but they closed again,
As if to waken were too keen a pain!
“Jesu be praised, she lives!” On lip and cheek
The rosy life redawned with gradual glow,
As when, slow loitering on from peak to peak,
The morning mantles on the mountain snow.
Yet when again the sweet lips moved to speak,
Her voice but murmured like the wordless flow,
Word-like, of brooklet babbling round a thorn,
And mocked the syllables that died ere born.
86

At last a feeble hand, upraised with toil,
Made signal towards an ebon cabinet
With hinge of tendril-sprouting gold, a spoil
Of old Ravenna's palace, rough with fret
Of graver's art Byzantine. Nard and oil
On cedarn shelves in email caskets set
Gleamed half-revealed within, beside a row
Of ruby cordials and three cups below.
Fair in majestic impotence she leant
Back on the buttressed cushions, from her side
As speeding forth, her liegeman legate bent
To seek the drug she needed. Opening wide
Both doors he watched her eye for her intent,
And touched the vials one by one; he tried
One, two, and at the third she bowed—the horn
With it he brought her, carved in unicorn.
He poured and held it to her lips; she drank.
It seemed, I wot, such wine as in the cup
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Of amorous Egypt glowed when on the bank
Of Nile she bade her Roman lord to sup.
And her eyes glistened,—all the ungracious blank
Gratefully beaming as she raised them up,
And blessed her lover with a smile more sweet
Than e'er touched lips of dying anchorete.
O Love, weird Alchemist of life, whose spell
Transmutes all hearts, all passions! Is it she
Who boasted but even now her might to fell
The pride of monarchs like a cedar-tree?
She, who but now in Beauty's right would quell
Her lovers with her loveliness and be
Mistress in all things of her own sweet will?
And can she sit there now so pale and still?
Even so! She sat there, and her true-love's arm
Circled her waist unchallenged as he spoke:
“How fares my lady now?” The silent charm
That sealed her sweet lips, at the question broke,
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And “Cheerily,” she answered, while the warm
Breath fell upon his forehead like the stroke
Of summer sunbeam in a beechwood glade
Among the dancing dapples of the shade.
“Now Heaven be praised for that fair word!” he said;
“You will be strong anon!” Then silence fell
Upon them like a mantle, and a dread
Grew up between them such as those may tell
Who have made shrift of love. The queenly head
Swayed like a fair lake-lily o'er the swell
And ebb of passionate breath. Unseen above
The vanquished Death yielded his sword to Love.
At last he spoke—trembling indeed, but slow,
As one long schooled with outward calm to speak,
Even when the blood ran boiling with the flow
Of fitfullest emotion. On his cheek
Burnt one small spot of crimson, but the brow
Was still with studied stillness. Ye might seek,
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As many a crafty eye had sought ere then,
Nor find one passion there of common men.
“Emma,” he said, “I am a plain poor man,
“And thou the daughter of a Kaiser's line,
“Whose slaves are princes, and whose realm earth's span!
“I have no sire save God and Father Rhine;
“I cannot prate of gold as others can:
“Crowns and broad lands and serfs are theirs, not mine!
“Blood, lordship, gold—without them and above
“I have a brain to do, a heart to love.
“And I have breasted all the storms of state,
“Endured the courtier's smile, the princeling's sneer,
“Breathed the rank air of courts, nor scorned to wait
“While others sat where I was more than peer.
“Yea, for thy love hath called me to this fate
“And dared me tempt the path that led me here,
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“Though boldest heart might faint, and cheek wax pale
“To fathom that abyss, this height to scale!
“Thy love alone! If for myself ere now
“I have done bravely that I willed to do,
“And wooed untimely furrows to my brow;—
“If for myself I have been staunch and true
“To him I served and serve, and scorned to bow
“Though Prince and Pope defied us with their crew,
“Yet, when the glory crowned me and a name,
“Not for myself but thee I grasped at Fame!
“Laban, my lord, is thankless!—year on year
“I have toiled unrewarded. I have won
“Small praise and mickle blame—some love, more fear,
“And a scant pension, other guerdon none!
“Now I appeal from Laban! Wilt thou hear,
“And crown thyself the deeds that I have done?
“All, all for thee!—and more, if more thou wilt,
“Yet will I do, even be my heart's-blood spilt!
91

“O, year on year in dreams I have sought this hour,
“As Eve might seek some gate in Paradise,
“One narrow wicket, all unwatched by power
“Of cherub-swords! Full many a rare device
“Of cunning rhetoric, many an artful flower
“Of minstrel phrases eloquent and wise,
“Long since I gathered, might this hour once come:
“This hour! 'Tis here, and my full soul is dumb!
“Ah! where be now those fancies, and the love
“That once they might have spoken? Love hath grown
“Infinite in thy presence!—lost above
“All dizziest heights of love that loves alone!
“Emma, I love thee!”—But to speak nor move
She willed not. Like a maiden carved in stone,
Save for the panting passionate breath, she sat
As if she heard no voice, or cared not what.
“Speak, love,” he cried, and with a start he flung
His arms about her, in love-thirsty eyes
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Seeking the blessed answer which the tongue
Forgot to utter in that sweet surprise.
Ah me! for words what recked he, as she clung
Close, close about his neck, all witcheries
Of eloquence love-molten on her lips
In the first kiss of love's apocalypse?
A long, long kiss, unsealing all the springs
Of loving converse;—whispers low and sweet
And rich with memories of a thousand things
That spoke of old their secret, though it beat
Voiceless within their hearts;—soft murmurings
Of happy love, while oft the chattering sleet
On the wet stones would dash their lips with pale,
And other kisses link the broken tale.
So sat those lovers in the days of gold
With a new world beneath them and above!—
The old, old tale, which yet is never old
While maidens hear and young men tell of love.
93

From age to age interminably told
While strength and beauty bloom, and fond hearts move
To the glad music of the eternal truth
That breathes in blithe May-dawns and life's sweet youth!
Chant ye a marriage song, ye midnight gales!
Keep watch, thou sleepless elm beside the door,
That none disturb their slumber!—Blab no tales,
Thou taper flickering on the bridal floor!
Be still, ye voices from the cloistral vales,
Ye should have pealed of Holy Church before!
They sleep, those lovers, and your holy din
Will wake them all too soon from their sweet sin.
They slept and knew no dread. Yet ere the morn—
For dreams, too, have their consciousness, and prate
A truer tale of how the night hath worn
Than tolling clock to them that wake and wait,—
The Notary woke. A ghostly light forlorn
Gloamed through the latticed window's archway strait:
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Snow?—snow? Could that be snow, that wind-scooped hill
That curved athwart the window on the sill?
And feet leave prints! He started up amain,
Like wreck-woke seaman, yet as one who knows
That Death in mockery still spares time to drain
One deep last beaker ere the whirlpools close,
Fondly he leant to kiss yet once again
His love's all-queenly forehead as he rose,
Deeming she slumbered, till a tell-tale smile
Lit on her mouth, and spoke the simple guile.
And her eyes dawned. “Ah, go not yet!” she cried,
“O, I have watched thee till mine eyes grew dim
“With very love to watch thee, and the tide
“Of fullest passion quivered at the brim!
“This is the height of life! Henceforth we slide
“Downward, for ever downward, till the grim
“Grave closes o'er us! Dearest, wilt thou go
“To woo so soon the darkness and the woe?
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“The hours are young as yet: yon flickering light
“Hath scarce burnt half-way down, and far away
“The blushing dawn still lingers in her flight
“O'er the myrrh-groves of Araby. Ah, stay—
“Stay yet a little while! A darker night
“Dawns all too soon upon us with the day!
“Farewell? Thou canst not say that word! Ah me,
“What shall I do, dear love, bereft of thee?”
She flung her arms around him, with a low
Murmur between her kisses, as if there
She would have held his parting evermo,
Breathing her soul out in that sweet despair.
Alas, he heard not! “Seest thou yonder snow?”
He asked in barren answer to her prayer,
And rose. She thought he dreamed, so strange his cheer:
Snow, and if snow it be, what cause for fear?”
Softly he drew the bolt, unmade the door
For his despair to enter. All was white!
96

Day soon must dawn! How foot that treacherous floor,
Yet not proclaim the secret of the night?
Despair was on the threshold. “All is o'er!
“Insulted heaven itself forbids my flight!
“Vengeance alone awaiteth us! To fly
“Or stay what boots it?—either is to die!”—
The Princess stood beside him ere the words
Were halfway spoken:—one brief gaze she cast
On the white courtyard. “I will whet the swords
“That slay thee for this deed!” she said. “Make haste!
“On with your doublet! If yon sleuth-hound lords
“Shall scent where any foot save mine hath past
“From out this chamber,—say that woman's wit
“Failed woman's love, though that was ne'er said yet!—
“Art ready?—Quick!—Saint Denys speed our love!—
“Up!—On my shoulders!—Nay, no flattery now!—
“My limbs are not like theirs who scarce can move
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“In harness for the tilt! What boots it how,
“So thou art safe? Look forth! Even now above
“Yon Eastern bastion daylight 'gins to plough
“The first grey furrows! Up!” And straight she bore
Her lover on her shoulders from the door!
I would have given now, were I a king,
To see that sight, a pension and broad lands,
Aye, half a shire, to watch his fingers cling
About her chin,—the long hair's liberal strands
Circling his wrists in many an amorous ring,
And the loose feet soft-stirruped in her hands!
Two lovers on one-pair of sandal-shoon
Between the rising sun and setting moon!
Ah me! the one who saw it was not one
Who joyed in seeing, though an Emperor!—
Whether some evil dream before the sun
Had snapped his sleep, or problem of deep lore
Of kingcraft and new empires lost and won
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Called him thus early from the palace-door,
I know not! Past the elm-tree scarce a pace
She stood before her father, face to face!
All three were silent! silently, poor soul,
The Notary slid from his imperial seat,
Pale by the crimson Princess as a scroll
Of his own parchment, ere he gained his feet.
Too well he knew that clench of strong control
Under his monarch's beard! His own heart's beat
Was all he heard as the old man strode by
And gazed upon their shame inscrutably!
Whet the great axe, thou headsman, and build high
The scaffold, ye black ministers of doom,
Whereon an Empire's daughter is to die!
Hang thy broad streets, thou city, with the gloom
Of sable palls and funeral blazonry!
Meet vengeance for that crime, a traitor's tomb!
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Shall bastard blood be mixed with blood of kings,
And taint the flow of princedom at the springs?
Grim sat the Monarch down among his peers:
“Bring forth the culprits!” Mercy! There they stood,
But not like culprits! Felon hopes and fears
Swayed not the tides of that imperial blood!
No quivering on the lips, no dastard tears,
No villain touch of shuddering cravenhood!
Love is akin to Death! At once to die
Is the true drift of many a true-love's sigh!
Then spoke the monarch:“Eginhard, my love
“For thee hath found its guerdon, and my trust
“Been paid right nobly! Thee I placed above
“Thy fellow-courtiers, raised thee from the dust
“And gave thee all my heart, that I might prove
“Even such return as this! O, 'tis most just!
“I am an old man, and my few grey hairs
“Had scarce enow of lighter toils and cares!
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“And thou, too, daughter!” but the unwonted sneer
Died in his tremulous voice: “O God, my child!
“I have sinned deeply towards thee! O, too dear!
“I would have kept thee mateless, and beguiled
“Thy maiden-yearnings! my reward is here,
“Here, in a daughter's shame, a crown defiled!
“God's mercy on us both!” He paused awhile,
His frown unwrinkling to as dread a smile,
Then bending to the Notary: “You,” he said,
“You have proclaimed me thankless! Monarch's ears
Hear whispers oftentimes that cost a head
“Even for their very truth. 'Tis true, the jeers
“Of these boy-Herods, and the bitter bread
“Of scorned desert among these pampered peers
“Too long have mocked thy service! Ere thou shrive
“To die thou yet shalt learn how kings can give!
“My Lord Archbishop!” From the astonied throng
The Pontiff rose full-purpled at the call:
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“Join me these lovers! Even now too long
“We have delayed the marriage festival!
“Take thy fair portress, Eginhard! The wrong
“That thou hast done me I repay with all
“That an old man loved most! and Christ above
“Bless ye, my children, in your life and love!”
Sed peream, Christe, dignus si perditus iste!
Quoth Fabian.
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