A Mirror of Faith :: :: University of Virginia Library

In that same forest, which of old
His father's lust had made,
When church and cot he spar'd them not,
But both in ruins laid;
In that same forest, by the son,
Shall vengeance' debt be paid.

He rose at light from a reveller's night,
And Mass he would not hear:
They told him portent to affright;
He laugh'd to scorn their fear:

A deer sprung out at his very feet,
And he thought to pierce it soon:
And he spurred thro' the heat on his steed so fleet,
But the chace held on till noon:

And not till then, in a shady glen,
The good stag stood at bay:
—What follow'd next, alone of men
Can Walter Tyrrell say.

Oh then too slow was the king's cross-bow,
For the deer sprung past his aim;
“Shoot! Walter Tyrrell! shoot!” he cried—
“Shoot! in the devil's name!” —

Some say that the shaft Sir Walter aim'd
Glanc'd off to King William's heart:
Some say that the fiend the King had nam'd
Directed himself the dart:

Of a fearful form in the greenwood bough,
And of fearful sounds they tell;
Yet never was known, from then till now,
How William Rufus fell.

His body lay in the same green glade,
All in an August sun:
The many friends his gold had made,
They fail'd him every one;

But peasants laid it in a cart,
When their toil at Vespers ceas'd;
And the life-blood flowed along the road
Like the blood of a slaughter'd beast;

And at Compline-tide to Winchester
The festering corpse they bring:
And they laid him in the Cathedral church
Because he had been a King

But never a heart at his death was sore,
And never an eye was dim:
The church bells toll for mean and poor,
But they never toll'd for him:

No Psalms they said, no Prayers they made,
No Holy Alms they gave:
And his treasures at last to another past,
Ere he was in his grave!

These are the exact words of the contemporary annalist.

One of his servants was forewarned, in a dream, on the preceding night, by an old man who appeared in the form of a Bishop, that his lord's end was approaching. The sleep of the King himself was disturbed, and he only dispelled his presentiments by indulging largely in the pleasures of the feast.

“Trahas, trahas arcum ex parte diaboli,” are the words which the annalist puts into the King's mouth.