 | Teresa and Other Poems |  |
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LAY OF THE OUBLIETTE
The lady-Baroness lay in her bed,
With twin-born sons upon either side—
Widow and mother, whom none knew wed
Till three months since, when her lord had died,
The bold young Baron of Adlerstein,
Slain in a raid by ruthless foes—
He and his sire the last of their line!
And never a mass for soul's repose!
With twin-born sons upon either side—
Widow and mother, whom none knew wed
Till three months since, when her lord had died,
The bold young Baron of Adlerstein,
Slain in a raid by ruthless foes—
He and his sire the last of their line!
And never a mass for soul's repose!
For the Baron of old was a bloody man,
Had hacked and harried and burned and spoiled,
And recked no whit of the Church's ban:
But this sweet lady had half-assoiled
The guilt of a race that was not hers,
Had tamed the heart of her wolfish mate,
And, dowered with the mother-she-wolf's curse,
Gave pity for scorn and love for hate.
Had hacked and harried and burned and spoiled,
And recked no whit of the Church's ban:
But this sweet lady had half-assoiled
The guilt of a race that was not hers,
Had tamed the heart of her wolfish mate,
And, dowered with the mother-she-wolf's curse,
Gave pity for scorn and love for hate.
On a jut of the mountain crags it stood—
The castle where that fair creature lay,
And built, 'twould seem, for the eagle's brood,
Or men as fearless and fierce as they:
For over a chasm of yawning air
'Twixt lip and lip of the rock 'twas set;
And high o'erhead as the eagle's stair,
So deep below lay the oubliette.
The castle where that fair creature lay,
And built, 'twould seem, for the eagle's brood,
Or men as fearless and fierce as they:
For over a chasm of yawning air
'Twixt lip and lip of the rock 'twas set;
And high o'erhead as the eagle's stair,
So deep below lay the oubliette.
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The mouth of the oubliette, unseen,
Was wrought in the huge hall's oaken floor;
And close were the grim teeth clenched, I ween,
Till traitor or foeman crossed the door:
Then—one brief stride through the vaulted room,
And a fierce wild cry from his lips would go,
As into the void earth's gaping gloom
He plunged to the dreadful depth below.
Was wrought in the huge hall's oaken floor;
And close were the grim teeth clenched, I ween,
Till traitor or foeman crossed the door:
Then—one brief stride through the vaulted room,
And a fierce wild cry from his lips would go,
As into the void earth's gaping gloom
He plunged to the dreadful depth below.
Now hark! from the castle wall they cry,
‘Who dares mount hither, of death so fain?’
‘Sir Kasimir of Wildschloss I,
And next of kin to the slaughtered twain.’
‘Ay, marry, but yesternight were born
Twin sons to our fallen lord—’ ‘Yea, yea,
Who died unwedded’ he laughs in scorn:
‘Come in, come in’ quoth the she-wolf grey.
‘Who dares mount hither, of death so fain?’
‘Sir Kasimir of Wildschloss I,
And next of kin to the slaughtered twain.’
‘Ay, marry, but yesternight were born
Twin sons to our fallen lord—’ ‘Yea, yea,
Who died unwedded’ he laughs in scorn:
‘Come in, come in’ quoth the she-wolf grey.
He stands in the chamber; his doubts fall dead
At a glance from the mother's guileless eyne;
There needeth no word between them said;
She points to the heir of Adlerstein.
To hail him chief of his lordly race
The knight stoops low upon bended knee;
‘So Heaven, sweet lady, lend me grace,
As I deal nobly with thine and thee.’
At a glance from the mother's guileless eyne;
There needeth no word between them said;
She points to the heir of Adlerstein.
To hail him chief of his lordly race
The knight stoops low upon bended knee;
‘So Heaven, sweet lady, lend me grace,
As I deal nobly with thine and thee.’
She lifted her eyes with tears a-brim,
Though well I wot 'twas a joyful day;
And but for the she-wolf scowling grim,
Her lips would have blessed him where she lay.
What sound is it makes her bosom swell?
What blanches the pale cheek paler yet?
Mother of God! now shield him well,
For they loosen the bolts of the oubliette.
Though well I wot 'twas a joyful day;
And but for the she-wolf scowling grim,
Her lips would have blessed him where she lay.
What sound is it makes her bosom swell?
What blanches the pale cheek paler yet?
Mother of God! now shield him well,
For they loosen the bolts of the oubliette.
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Then a thought of splendour, a deed of grace,
By the gentle lady was dared and done,
Though the heart stopped beating, the sweet young face
Grew old with the anguish ere speech was won:
‘Farewell, sir kinsman, but, ere you go,
Come, pledge we our faith by a simple sign;
Take these two babes to your serfs below;
Proclaim them the heirs of Adlerstein.
By the gentle lady was dared and done,
Though the heart stopped beating, the sweet young face
Grew old with the anguish ere speech was won:
‘Farewell, sir kinsman, but, ere you go,
Come, pledge we our faith by a simple sign;
Take these two babes to your serfs below;
Proclaim them the heirs of Adlerstein.
He laughed, as he lingered, 'twixt mirth and fear,
Or ever he clasped his infant freight:
But the she-wolf vanished, and one might hear
The bolts made fast on the mouth of fate.
The mother lay calm, with smile on lip,
Till strength died out with the closing door;
Then the beat of her heart was a tiger's grip,
And the pulse at her brain the Maëlstrom's roar.
Or ever he clasped his infant freight:
But the she-wolf vanished, and one might hear
The bolts made fast on the mouth of fate.
The mother lay calm, with smile on lip,
Till strength died out with the closing door;
Then the beat of her heart was a tiger's grip,
And the pulse at her brain the Maëlstrom's roar.
But hark! a shout from the serfs below,
And step by step a returning tread!
Till Ursel, ascending, old and slow,
Stood safe with her burden beside the bed.
So women have dared since time began;
So women will dare till suns have set;
But match, who can, from the deeds of man
This tale of the babes and the oubliette!
And step by step a returning tread!
Till Ursel, ascending, old and slow,
Stood safe with her burden beside the bed.
So women have dared since time began;
So women will dare till suns have set;
But match, who can, from the deeds of man
This tale of the babes and the oubliette!
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