Poems and Essays :: :: University of Virginia Library

The king hath lent a listening ear,
And blacker grew his face to hear:
“By Cross,” he cried, “if thou speak right,
The Fontanlee is a traitor knight!”

III

Outstepped Sir Robert of Fontanlee,
A young knight and a fair to see;
Outstepped Sir Stephen of Fontanlee,
Sir Robert's second brother was he;
Outstepped Sir John of Fontanlee,
He was the youngest of these three.

IV

There are three gloves on the oaken boards,
And three white hands on their hilted swords:
“On horse or foot, by day or night,
We stand to do our father right.”

V

The Baron Tranmere hath bent his knee,
And gathered him up the gages three:

“Ye are young knights, and loyal, I wis,
And ye know not how false your father is.

VI

Put on, put on your armour bright;
And God in heaven help the right!”
“God help the right!” the sons replied;
And straightway on their armour did.

VII

The Baron Tranmere hath mounted his horse,
And ridden him down the battle-course;
The young Sir Robert lifted his eyes,
Looked fairly up in the open skies:

VIII

“If my father was true in deed and in word,
Fight, O God, with my righteous sword;
If my father was false in deed or in word,
Let me lie at length on the battle-sward!”

IX

The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse,
And ridden him down the battle-course;
Sir Robert's vizor is crushed and marred,
And he lies his length on the battle-sward.

X

Sir Stephen was an angry blade—
I scarce may speak the words he said:
“Though Heaven itself were false,” cried he,
“True is my father of Fontanlee!

XI

And, brother, as Heaven goes with the wrong,
If this lying baron should lay me along,
Strike another blow for our good renown.”
“Doubt me not,” said the young knight John.

XII

The Baron Tranmere hath turned his horse,
And ridden him down the battle-course;
In bold Sir Stephen's best life-blood
His spear's point is wet to the wood.

XIII

The young knight John hath bent his knee
And speaks his soul right solemnly:
“Whatever seemeth good to thee,
The same, O Lord, attend on me.

XIV

What though my brothers lie along,
My father's faith is firm and strong:
Perchance thy deeply-hid intent
Doth need some nobler instrument.

XV

Let faithless hearts give heed to fear,
I will not falter in my prayer:
If ever guilty treachery
Did stain the blood of Fontanlee,—

XVI

As such an ‘if’ doth stain my lips,
Though truth lie hidden in eclipse,—
Let yonder lance-head pierce my breast,
And my soul seek its endless rest.”

XVII

Never a whit did young John yield,
When the lance ran through his painted shield;
Never a whit debased his crest,
When the lance ran into his tender breast.

XVIII

“What is this? what is this, thou young Sir John,
That runs so fast from thine armour down?”
“Oh, this is my heart's blood, I feel,
And it wets me through from the waist to the heel.”

XIX

Sights of sadness many a one
A man may meet beneath the sun;
But a sadder sight did never man see
Than lies in the Hall of Fontanlee.

XX

There are three corses manly and fair,
Each in its armour, and each on its bier;
There are three squires weeping and wan,
Every one with his head on his hand,

XXI

Every one with his hand on his knee,
At the foot of his master silently
Sitting, and weeping bitterly
For the broken honour of Fontanlee.

XXII

Who is this at their sides that stands?
“Lift, O squires, your heads from your hands;
Tell me who these dead men be
That lie in the Hall of the Fontanlee.”

XXIII

“This is Sir Robert of Fontanlee,
A young knight and a fair to see;
This is Sir Stephen of Fontanlee,
Sir Robert's second brother was he;
This is Sir John of Fontanlee,
He was the youngest of those three.

XXIV

For their father's truth did they
Freely give their lives away,
And till he doth home return,
Sadly here we sit and mourn.”

XXV

These sad words they having said,
Every one down sank his head;
Till, in accents strangely spoken,
At their sides was silence broken.

XXVI

“I do bring you news from far,
False was the Fontanlee in war!
Unbend your bright swords from my breast,
I that do speak do know it best.”
Wide he flung his mantle free;
Lo, it was the Fontanlee!

XXVII

Then the squires like stricken men
Sank into their seats again,
And their cheeks in wet tears steeping
Fresh and faster fell a weeping.

XXVIII

He with footsteps soft and slow
Round to his sons' heads did go;
Sadly he looked on every one,
And stooped and kissed the youngest, John.

XXIX

Then his weary head down bending,
“Heart,” said he, “too much offending,
Break, and let me only be
Blotted out of memory.”

XXX

Thrice with crimson cheek he stood,
And thrice he swallowed the salt blood;
Then outpoured the torrent red;
The false Fontanlee lay dead.

1845.