 | Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her |  |
31
THE BURIAL OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
1087.
In bed of dole King William lies; three months he there hath lain:
All gross of body, sick he lies, nor seeks to rise again:
The horse champs idle in the camp; sleep the good lance and sword
And France may laugh to scorn his ire, till leeches heal their lord.
All gross of body, sick he lies, nor seeks to rise again:
The horse champs idle in the camp; sleep the good lance and sword
And France may laugh to scorn his ire, till leeches heal their lord.
“Now, by my faith,” King Phillip laughed, his Frankish lords among,
“Our cousin England's lying in, methinks it lasts full long;
“If ever it be over, at his churching sure there'll be
“Full store of jests and merriment, great thankfulness and glee.”
“Our cousin England's lying in, methinks it lasts full long;
“If ever it be over, at his churching sure there'll be
“Full store of jests and merriment, great thankfulness and glee.”
“By the splendour and the birth of God!” 'twas thus King William swore,
When Phillip's bitter mocking, to his bed, his Normans bore,
“In Notre-Dame de Paris I'll be churched, and, at the sight,
“Ten thousand Norman lances this Phillip's church shall light.”
When Phillip's bitter mocking, to his bed, his Normans bore,
“In Notre-Dame de Paris I'll be churched, and, at the sight,
“Ten thousand Norman lances this Phillip's church shall light.”
And he hath leapt from forth his couch, and he hath armed in wrath,
And, through the summer fields of France, a desert tells his path;
The wheat waved fair; the vines rose green; they withered in his frown;
Fruit-tree and vine and grain, beneath his charger's hoofs, go down.
And, through the summer fields of France, a desert tells his path;
The wheat waved fair; the vines rose green; they withered in his frown;
Fruit-tree and vine and grain, beneath his charger's hoofs, go down.
Woe unto Mantes-sur-Seine! how gay and glad the fair town stood;
He comes; its homes are red with flames, are soaked with steaming blood;
And, through the crash of roofs, with heart all pitiless rides he;
Through all its woes, its groans and shrieks, he shouts in savage glee.
He comes; its homes are red with flames, are soaked with steaming blood;
And, through the crash of roofs, with heart all pitiless rides he;
Through all its woes, its groans and shrieks, he shouts in savage glee.
“Vengeance is mine,” so saith the Lord; his charger plants its feet
Upon the fiery embers that smoke along the street;
It springs; its heavy rider forgets his cruel mirth,
As, rearing high, his war-horse flings its ruthless lord to earth.
Upon the fiery embers that smoke along the street;
It springs; its heavy rider forgets his cruel mirth,
As, rearing high, his war-horse flings its ruthless lord to earth.
32
Full lightly recked he evermore of dying sob and groan;
He drains the cup he loved to deal; God makes the draught his own;
He rode in joy through Hastings' field, and now in pain and dole,
Its weight of woe afflicts him sore, its blood is on his soul.
He drains the cup he loved to deal; God makes the draught his own;
He rode in joy through Hastings' field, and now in pain and dole,
Its weight of woe afflicts him sore, its blood is on his soul.
O weeks of leeches and of priests! his weary hours are spent
In thoughts of deeds he would undo, that he can but sore repent;
“Rebuild,” he groans, “God's churches, the good towns burnt by me;
“Deal my treasures out to England's poor, and set my captives free!”
In thoughts of deeds he would undo, that he can but sore repent;
“Rebuild,” he groans, “God's churches, the good towns burnt by me;
“Deal my treasures out to England's poor, and set my captives free!”
“I may not bid a son of mine, the land I won, to heir;
“Blood-bought, to none, but God alone, to give that land, I dare;
“O Mary, holy Mother of God, my soul take thou!
“Wash thou its soiling sins away, its sins that crush me now!”
“Blood-bought, to none, but God alone, to give that land, I dare;
“O Mary, holy Mother of God, my soul take thou!
“Wash thou its soiling sins away, its sins that crush me now!”
He dies; but while St. Mary's bells, at prime, his life ring out,
What love salutes his glazing eyes? who stand his couch about?
Nor son, nor friend, nor Baron leal, weeps for his parting breath,
Nor soothes, with loving looks, his soul to the great calm of death.
What love salutes his glazing eyes? who stand his couch about?
Nor son, nor friend, nor Baron leal, weeps for his parting breath,
Nor soothes, with loving looks, his soul to the great calm of death.
Son, courtman, leech, “To horse! to horse!” why should they lingering stay?
Off! off! with arms, with gold, with robes; none spoilless ride away;
Now serf and villain strip the form, so late they shook before;
There lies their mighty lord, all lone, all naked on the floor.
Off! off! with arms, with gold, with robes; none spoilless ride away;
Now serf and villain strip the form, so late they shook before;
There lies their mighty lord, all lone, all naked on the floor.
“Who evil doth shall evil rue;” all lonely there he lies;
Not one to straight his stiffening corpse, to close his staring eyes;
Till monks, in Christian pity, come, beside the dead to pray;
And Rouen's Bishop fain, to Caen, would have it borne away.
Not one to straight his stiffening corpse, to close his staring eyes;
Till monks, in Christian pity, come, beside the dead to pray;
And Rouen's Bishop fain, to Caen, would have it borne away.
“For ruth and love of God,” at last the stranger Herlin said,
“Be mine the cost, since none are here to tend and tomb the dead;”
Lo, God is just; to strangers' hands, broad England's lands he gave,
Now, unto him, a stranger's hands give, at the last, a grave.
“Be mine the cost, since none are here to tend and tomb the dead;”
Lo, God is just; to strangers' hands, broad England's lands he gave,
Now, unto him, a stranger's hands give, at the last, a grave.
33
In Stephen's Minster, in the church he built, there shall he lie;
Beside the altar gapes the grave; stand monk and abbot by;
The mass is done; lower down the corpse; but then from out the crowd,
Stept Asselin Fitz-Arthur, and, I wot, his cry was loud.
Beside the altar gapes the grave; stand monk and abbot by;
The mass is done; lower down the corpse; but then from out the crowd,
Stept Asselin Fitz-Arthur, and, I wot, his cry was loud.
“Ye shall not tomb the robber here; he, priests, for whom ye pray,
“This earth in which his grave ye make, he seized by force away;
“My father's house stood here; this land is mine; my glebe I claim;
“Ye shall not tomb the spoiler here; I bar it in God's name.”
“This earth in which his grave ye make, he seized by force away;
“My father's house stood here; this land is mine; my glebe I claim;
“Ye shall not tomb the spoiler here; I bar it in God's name.”
“God knows it; priests, he speaketh truth; we know it this man's ground.”
So, one and all, out cry the crowd, the burghers standing round;
Then thirty pence the Bishops tell, and pledge its worth to pay
To him who owns the land, ere, in its grave, the dead they lay.
So, one and all, out cry the crowd, the burghers standing round;
Then thirty pence the Bishops tell, and pledge its worth to pay
To him who owns the land, ere, in its grave, the dead they lay.
Uncoffined, wrapt in royal robes, they thrust him down the tomb,
To front God's awful judgment-seat, to hear God's awful doom;
Now would I not be he who goes to doom at God's dread hands
For all his haut renown and rule, for all broad England's lands.
To front God's awful judgment-seat, to hear God's awful doom;
Now would I not be he who goes to doom at God's dread hands
For all his haut renown and rule, for all broad England's lands.
| Contributions to a Ballad History of England and the States Sprung from Her | |