University of Virginia Library

O'er Thoulè, in the olden day,
A wise and mighty king held sway,
Who, after storms of war had past,
Peacefully ruled dominion vast,
And, in a castle strong and tall,
With lofty towers and massive wall,
By men-at-arms and knights attended,
Dwelt in a state assured and splendid.
Beloved this gentle king because
So kind his sway, so mild his laws;
Justice he dealt throughout his State,
Not merely to the rich and great,
But patient heard, and judged with care,
As well the poor man's humble prayer.
The lowest peasant in the land
Might seek the throne of Aldobrand;
And all, though mean, or even bad,
Strict right and rigid justice had.
Judges in every town he set
Wherein injustice might be met,
That fraud and crime might be controlled,
And justice given to all, not sold.
But yet he kept, lest wrong ensue,
The power all cases to review;
And on his castle high there hung
A silver bell with iron tongue,
A silken cord for ringing which
Was at the gateway in a niche;
And he, defrauded of his right,
Might freely come, by day or night,
And there the Bell of Justice ring,
And so have audience of the king.
But as the judges all were just,
The bell grew black, its tongue had rust;
Right so in all that land abounded
That none had ever heard it sounded;
And to its rope that useless hung
An unpruned grapevine climbed and clung.—

One day it chanced at banquet there,
The king reclining in his chair,
Meats had been taken from the board,
And generous wine for all outpoured,
And when for minstrel, harp in hand,
Who sang the deeds of Aldobrand,
Throughout the hall loud plaudits rang,
There came in air a sudden clang;
The Bell of Justice, silent long,
Pealed out in fitful notes and strong,
And nobles, ranged that board around,
Were startled at the unwonted sound.
“Learn,” said the king, “who asks our ear,—
And bring the injured suppliant here.
Gentle or simple, man or brute—
At once we'll hear, and judge his suit.”

The seneschal, with wand in hand,
Obedient to the king's command,
Went forth, but soon returned and bowed,
And said unto the king aloud:
“I have not dared to bring, beau sire,
The suppliant, as you bade me, here.
An old white steed, so gaunt, so lean,
The crows esteem his meat too mean,
Turned out to die, it so befell,
Cropping the vine-leaves, rang the bell.”
“Well,” said the king, “the horse had need,
What if he be a sorry steed—
Old, gaunt, weak, friendless and forlorn?
Faithful his owner he has borne;
And now, with youth and strength gone by,
Is heartlessly turned out to die.
Who thus has recompensed the brute,
Shall answer to this suitor mute.
Find me his master; bring me both;
To judge the case I'm nothing loth.”

It was not long ere in the hall
A white-haired man, grim, lean and tall,
Ragged of dress, yet proud of port,
Appeared before the king and court;
And then they brought the courser white,
Who whinnied at his master's sight,
And placed his head with fondest air
Upon the old man's shoulder there.
“Speak,” said the king, “and answer me,
Why this unkind neglect of thee
Of such a fond and faithful steed?”
“O king!” he answered, “'tis from need!
Freely I gave my arms and truth,
To middle life from early youth,
To one who, when I older grew,
His favor from me then withdrew,
Ill-fared the twain, my steed and I,
Both in old age turned out to die.”

“Now, by my faith as crownèd king,”
The monarch said, “I'll mend this thing.
If in my realm the man shall be
Who brought this twain to misery,
Their honest service to requite,
He shall be forced to do them right.
Give me thy name and his, and he
Shall make amends to thine and thee,
Or find scant mercy at my hand.”
“My name is Rolph: his, Aldobrand.
When years agone this mighty realm
The Keltic hordes would overwhelm,
And give it o'er to blood and wrack,
I led the force that drove them back,
Pierced singly all their legions through,
And on the field their leader slew.
But old, dismissed from service, since
No longer needed by my prince,
The rags that cover me attest
Whose deeds are fairest, fares not best;
And if this steed of noble strain
Drags to his end, in want and pain,
Not mine the fault that, worn and scarred,
His age is wretched, life is hard.”
The monarch bit his lips, and said,
“They brought me word Sir Rolph was dead.
Their words shall not be false—what ho!
Guards, there! let not this couple go!
Thy worn-out war-horse in this ring,
Asks justice on thee from thy king.
Perish, Sir Rolph; but from thy knee,
Rise as the Count of Campanie;
Castles and lands and honors fair
Be thine, and velvet robes to wear;
But as thou hast, with swelling port,
Reproached thy monarch in his court,
As punishment well due thy guilt,
Be thou my guest whene'er thou wilt;
My palace to thy entrance free,
Come when or how thou mayst to me;
And ever welcome to the stall
As is his master to the hall,
The steed who served thy purpose well
What time he rang the silver bell.”