Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
 |
 |
The Jester's Passing Bell.
|
|
 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
53
The Jester's Passing Bell.
A LEGEND OF THE REIGN OF FRANCIS THE FIRST: DURING WHOSE REIGN THE “BLACK DEATH”—AN INFECTIOUS SPECIES OF PLAGUE—RAVAGED BOTH ENGLAND AND FRANCE.
NOON.
The Jester with his crazy eye,
And his cat-soft velvet foot,
Comes slipping between the grey beech trunks
And over the green-mossed root:
Now with a cuckoo's double note,
Now with the white owl's hoot.
And his cat-soft velvet foot,
Comes slipping between the grey beech trunks
And over the green-mossed root:
Now with a cuckoo's double note,
Now with the white owl's hoot.
54
The palace gardens, rich with flowers
Of Indian scent and lustre,
Are where, at dusk, the nightingales
Do most delight to muster.
But now the sunshine's golden darts
Do such shy creatures fluster.
Of Indian scent and lustre,
Are where, at dusk, the nightingales
Do most delight to muster.
But now the sunshine's golden darts
Do such shy creatures fluster.
The Jester, tolling his silver bell,
Comes where the fountain leaps,
Waving its snowy feather
O'er its shadow as it sleeps,
Where the elm its mount of whispering leaves
In summer richness heaps.
Comes where the fountain leaps,
Waving its snowy feather
O'er its shadow as it sleeps,
Where the elm its mount of whispering leaves
In summer richness heaps.
The palace gardens, sunshine-paved,
Are gay with lords and ladies;
The royal peacock struts i' the sun,
The blackbird sings where shade is;
The bloodhound, basking by the gate,
Of page nor groom afraid is.
Are gay with lords and ladies;
The royal peacock struts i' the sun,
The blackbird sings where shade is;
The bloodhound, basking by the gate,
Of page nor groom afraid is.
The Jester glides through every group,
Tolling his silver bell;
(None know the meaning of the thing,
Or how it so befell,
Nor think he does it bodingly,
Calling to heaven or hell.)
Tolling his silver bell;
(None know the meaning of the thing,
Or how it so befell,
Nor think he does it bodingly,
Calling to heaven or hell.)
Where bearded, anxious councillors
Are seated in divan,
Or ladies tired in velvet,
Each with a silver fan.
The Jester tolls o'er the charts and maps
That cover the red-lined plan.
Are seated in divan,
Or ladies tired in velvet,
Each with a silver fan.
The Jester tolls o'er the charts and maps
That cover the red-lined plan.
Where a duchess proud is fitting
For to-night the yellow mask,
The Jester's death-bell tolling
Frightens her from her task.
She fears to question Bobinel,
Nor his meaning dares to ask.
For to-night the yellow mask,
The Jester's death-bell tolling
Frightens her from her task.
She fears to question Bobinel,
Nor his meaning dares to ask.
Through every palace chamber
So trips the crazy creature,
With pale thin face, with frightened eye,
And death in every feature.
It was somehow ominous of ill,
And something above nature.
So trips the crazy creature,
55
And death in every feature.
It was somehow ominous of ill,
And something above nature.
56
Now as the Jester on the steps
Of the broad terrace lingers,
Touching the cord of his boding bell
With lean and shrunken fingers,
There comes from a distant tower the voice
Of the requiem's hooded singers.
Of the broad terrace lingers,
Touching the cord of his boding bell
With lean and shrunken fingers,
There comes from a distant tower the voice
Of the requiem's hooded singers.
He comes to where the damsels sit,
Each in her gold-net caul,
Working on tapestry, fit for a queen,
“The death of the Prophet Paul.”
Quoth he: “This Jew that you build of thread,
Will laugh at the world when they've buried us all.”
Each in her gold-net caul,
Working on tapestry, fit for a queen,
“The death of the Prophet Paul.”
Quoth he: “This Jew that you build of thread,
Will laugh at the world when they've buried us all.”
He creeps to the door of the steward's room:
The steward counts and reads;
Before him lie three open chests
Brimming with title-deeds.
Quoth he: “This parchment lasts for years,
And life-long mischief breeds.”
The steward counts and reads;
Before him lie three open chests
Brimming with title-deeds.
Quoth he: “This parchment lasts for years,
And life-long mischief breeds.”
Where gilded spears are breaking
In the merry tilting-ring;
Where frightened dames, half laughing,
Unto their lovers cling;
Where pages whisper messages
With low and bated breath,
Bobinel, with his silver bell,
Announces—the King—Death!
In the merry tilting-ring;
Where frightened dames, half laughing,
Unto their lovers cling;
Where pages whisper messages
With low and bated breath,
Bobinel, with his silver bell,
Announces—the King—Death!
NIGHT.
That night, King Plague came knocking
At the royal palace gate;
There were groans in turret chambers,
Where all was pomp and state;
There were frozen faces on gilt beds—
That warning had come too late.
At the royal palace gate;
There were groans in turret chambers,
Where all was pomp and state;
There were frozen faces on gilt beds—
That warning had come too late.
There were corpses borne away on biers
By men veiled fold on fold;
The city was full of cries and moans,
There was nothing bought nor sold;
The graves were gaping everywhere—
Too late had the Jester tolled.
By men veiled fold on fold;
The city was full of cries and moans,
There was nothing bought nor sold;
The graves were gaping everywhere—
Too late had the Jester tolled.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |