Carol and Cadence :: :: University of Virginia Library

The palmer sang;
The ghittern's clang
Called all the folk to hear.
“All over the world,” quoth he, “I've strayed;
“But never I saw so sweet a maid,
“So fair and frank and dear!”

The fair one's fame,
Like wind-borne flame,
Went spreading, place to place:
Full was the land
Of Melisande,
Her goodness and her grace:
And those among,
To whom Fate flung
The tidings of the case,
The news of her
To Rudel's ear
Came in a little space.

In him for nought,
At first, it wrought;
He took thereof scant heed.
But, oh, what a parlous thing is Love,
That whiles but couples 'twixt dove and dove
And whiles, for a word
In the distance heard,
Men's hearts to death bids bleed!

Now by His law
The hearkened saw
In Rudel's heart so deep
Sank and so wrought
Within his thought,
On wake and eke in sleep,

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That, before long,
None other song
There sang, none other strain,
Than her sweet name,
Whose far-flown fame
Had witched him, heart and brain.

The thought of her
In him did stir
At every time and place;
He spoke by light
And dreamed by night
Of nothing but her grace;
And like a fire
Was his desire
To look upon her face.

No more his rhymes,
As aforetimes,
Of divers ladies were:
One only praise
Was in his lays;
None other maid might share
His minstrelsy
With her whom he
Held only worth and fair.

All Europe rang
With what he sang
In praise of Melisande;
From hall to court
Flew his report
In every Chrisom land,
Till oversea
It won where she
Abode by Surrie strand.

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And she, — for kind
And mild of mind
She was as sweet of show
And keen of wit,
— By word of writ,
Gave him full fain to know
That all above
She held his love
And service evenso.

Now in those days
That prince of praise,
Who fell by Antioch wall,
Kaiser and Knight,
That Redbeard hight,
A new crusade let call
And Paynim-free
Christ's sanctuary
To make, bade Christians all.

His standard raised,
Whereon there blazed
The Cross, all thither ran:
Whoso delayed
From the crusade
Must bear the dastard's ban:
From France to Greece,
There was no peace
For any Chrisom man.

Now, to Rudel
When it befell
To hear his lady's word,
Joy in his spright
Was at its height

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And longing in him stirred
Her face to see
And know if she
Were even as he heard.

So, by the sign
To Palestine
That every Christian bade,
Though from the Quest
He right of rest
Had earned by service made,
Occasion yet
His mind was set
To take by the Crusade

And oversea
To Tripoli,
Seeking his lady bright,
Fare, there, if well
She willed, to dwell,
Undistant from her sight,
So, of her grace,
He whiles her face
Might see and be her knight.

And if in her
His sight should stir
No love, no kindness wake,
He might, at least,
Yet faring East,
Arms for the Cross uptake
And at Christ's call,
By Zion wall,
Die fighting for her sake.

So for good gold
His land he sold

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And for his lady dear
Gifts, with the price,
Of rare device,
He bought and travelling-gear.

His wede he shed
And donned instead
A palmer's hat and gown;
Then, taking horse,
Came, in due course
Of time, to Marseilles town.

There, for his need,
A ship of speed
He hired, a caravel,
With arms and crew
And all things due
For travel furnished well.

So, on the main
Launching, Sardaine
And Corsica between
He passed and through
Th'untroubled blue
Drove of the Sea Tyrrhene.

Then, faring free,
To Sicily
He came, with wind in poop,
And lest some thief
From out the Riff,
Some corsair on them swoop

And ship and crew
And him thereto
Bear off to slavery,

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Ran through the gates
Of Reggio Straits
Into the Ionian Sea.

Thence breezes fleet
Bore them to Crete,
Where, for fresh meat and drink,
Some little tide
They did abide,
To ease them of their swink.

Then, in fair weather,
Loosing their tether,
After a resting-while,
They Eastward bent
Their course, intent
On making Cyprus Isle.

But scarce from sight
Sank Ida's height
When all the sky turned black
And thence there blew
A wind undue,
That turned them from their track.

So, many a day
And night, astray
They drove before the blast
Till, tempest-ragged,
The torn sails flagged
Upon the stricken mast.

The heavens scowled,
The tempest howled
Athwart the sails and ropes;

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And never sight
Of bay or bight
There offered to their hopes.

Until, one morn,
With day new-born,
Down sudden dropped the storm;
The cloud-veil drew
From off heaven's blue
And forth the sun shone warm.

A dead calm held
The seas enspelled;
Of breezes breath was none;
They, whose need late
For cold was great,
Now sweltered in the sun;

And to and fro
They drifted slow
Till hope within them died,
And still their eyes
But seas and skies
On every hand espied.

Nor provend more
There was in store,
To stay the failing breath;
And eke Rudel
By fever fell
Was stricken unto death.

So drifted they
From day to day,
Whilst all of life despaired;

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Till, as upon
The prow, anon,
The captain Eastward stared,

The man cried out,
'Twixt hope and doubt,
Misdeeming of his eyes;
For o'er the brine
He saw a line
Of shores and hills arise.

From the sea's face
It rose apace,
Like visions in a dream;
And on its marge,
Where light lay large,
He saw spires flash and gleam.

Roofs rose and towers
And domes, like flowers
Of gold, against the sky;
Upon that sight,
So glad and bright,
A man might look and die.

“The saints I thank!”
The captain sank,
Thus crying, on his knee;
“I know that land,
“That silver strand,
“Fringed with the date-palm tree.

“I know the port with the white-walled town
“And the creek where the golden sands slope down,
“To meet the mounting sea;
“I know the beach, with the babbling rill;

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“The grey old castle upon the hill
“And the tower I know, with the standard still
“That beareth the lilies three;
“The spires and the pinnacled palaces
“I know and the domes. It is, it is
“The Land of Tripoli!”

Their hopes leapt up at the heartening word;
There was never a man so weak that heard
But sprang to the sheets again:
The sail rose up on the swaying mast:
It was land, it was blesséd land, at last:
Forgotten were all their fears and fain
They would have cheered; but their throats were dry
And the shout came out like a broken sigh
Or the wail of a soul in pain.

The town lay silent; beneath the skies
It slept in the dawning glow;
There was never a sign for the straining eyes.
But “Up with the flag!” the captain cries;
“'Twill waken the folk, I trow.”
So up, with a shout and the halyards' creak,
The black ball ran to the topmost peak
And the banner of France at the main broke out
And hung in the calm, as if in doubt
Of welcoming, ay or no.

At the sight and the sound the town awoke:
Away on the ramparts the sackbuts spoke;
The drums beat a point of war;
The trumpets thundered over the sea
And forth of the battlements, sweet to see,
There broke and blossomed the Lilies Three,
Paled with the crosses four,
The crosses four and the triple star,

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The flag of the Paynim feared afar,
The banner of Raymond, Lord of Bar
And Count of the Surrie shore.

Then heaven took pity and sent a breeze;
A light air wrinkled the crests of the seas
And made the taut ropes sing;
The canvas fluttered, the seas slid by;
The land drew nigher and ever nigh;
And wearily into the little port
The carvel crawled, like a hart amort
Or a bird with a broken wing.

The count's folk hailed as the ship drew nigh,
Loud calling from the quay;
“Ho, ye of the carvel!” was the cry:
“Why come ye hither to Tripoli?
“Whence, whence and whither, and what bear ye
Withal for lading, say!”

“From France,” the captain, “we come,” replied.
“Long, long have we tossed on the angry tide,
“Have toiled and travelled it far and wide,
“Driven of the winds astray.
“Nor stuffs nor jewels we bear for freight;
“Yet that, which is more of worth and rate
In wise men's eyes than they,
“We bring, nought else than a minstrel wight,
“Whose like is none in the sheer sun's sight,
“To wit, Sir Geoffrey, of Rudel hight,
“Baron and Prince of Blaye.

“The sweetest singer in all the land,
“For love of the Lady Melisande,
“His last hath he looked on the fair French strand
“And launched on the surging spray;

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“He hath given himself to the salt sea's guile,
“Hath wended and wearied him many a mile,
“So but he might see her sweet eyes smile
“And kiss her dainty hand,
“So but he might hear her welcome say
“And louting low in her presence, pray
For favour on his suit.
“But sick, alas! is the bard to death:
“There's little left in his breast of breath;
“The death-swoon holds him mute.
“He'll never again the folk rejoice
“With ditties dearer than gems of choice;
“He'll never again uplift his voice
“Or sing to the laughing lute.”

All rent, that heard
The captain's word,
With cries of grief the air;
For known was Rudel of every man
That numbered his name of the Chrisom clan;
And straight to the palace one there ran,
As if the news to bear.

Nor was it long
Ere, through the throng
That lined the harbour's marge,
Thrusting athwart
The inner port,
There showed a stately barge.

Hung were its sides, within, without,
With purple and cramoisie all about:
A dozen steersmen, tall and stout,
Six upon either side,
Swayed, as, with stalwart strokes and strong,
They drove the ponderous barge along
The slow resurgent tide.

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But none on the barge or the crew might look;
For lo! at the stern, in the curtained nook,
Like a pictured saint in a pious book,
Under the awning's shade,
With eyes of azure and hair of flame
And forehead flushed with a rosy shame,
A lily of light in a golden frame,
There sat a shining maid.

Her hair was gold
As the corn-crowned wold,
Her eyes as summer sea;
Since God in heaven set day and night,
Was never a maid so sweet of sight,
So fair of face as she.
Men looked on her face and bent the knee;
They gazed in her melting eyes of blue;
They noted her princely port and knew
The flower of Christiantie,
The loveliest lady whom ever upon
The sunbeams burned and the moonlight shone,
A brighter of blee than any star
And whiter of wit than lilies are,
The Lady Melisande of Bar,
The Rose of Tripoli.

The bark lay low;
The barge slid slow;
And up on the deck stepped that lady light;
She took her way
Where Rudel lay
And kneeling, bent o'er the dying knight.

The death-swoon held
His sense enspelled:
But syne on his brow her lips she prest;

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And with the bliss
Of that her kiss,
The breath came back to his bated breast.

He opened his eyes: by Our Lady's grace,
Life flickered up for a moment's space:
He opened his eyes on his lady's face
And met her look of love.
He felt him pillowed upon her breast
And thought him already at rest, at rest,
Encompanied round of the ransomed blest,
In Paradise above.

He gave God thanks for the gotten goal;
Nought more to wish for; Life made whole,
Love's blisses over the sated soul
Full-flowing, tide on tide!
He had lighted at last on the Golden Shore;
He had entered in at the Heavenly Door;
There was nothing on earth to live for more;
And so in Heaven he died.

Under a monument sweet to see,
In the Templars' chapel at Tripoli,
They laid him with mourning and melody,
As one of high estate;
To rest they laid him on royal wise,
Bewept of the tears of his lady's eyes:
And there, — till the day of the Great Assize,
When God all peoples, both small and great,
Shall call to reckoning up, — await,
Geoffrey of Rudel lies.

There sleeps he, freed
From all Life's need,
From all its cares and charms:

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Solved is his soul
Of joy and dole,
Of gladnesses and harms.
Men hold him mad;
But his hope he had;
For he died in his lady's arms.