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Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems

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<hr style="width: 65%;" />[Pg 148] <h2>A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON</h2> <div class="cpoem25"> Sir Guy, being in the court of a Pagan castle. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> THIS castle where I dwell, it stands A long way off from Christian lands, A long way off my lady's hands, A long way off the aspen trees, And murmur of the lime-tree bees. </div> <div class="stanza"> But down the Valley of the Rose My lady often hawking goes, Heavy of cheer; oft turns behind, Leaning towards the western wind, Because it bringeth to her mind Sad whisperings of happy times, The face of him who sings these rhymes. [Pg 149]</div> <div class="stanza"> King Guilbert rides beside her there, Bends low and calls her very fair, And strives, by pulling down his hair, To hide from my dear lady's ken The grisly gash I gave him, when I cut him down at Camelot; However he strives, he hides it not, That tourney will not be forgot, Besides, it is King Guilbert's lot, Whatever he says she answers not. </div> <div class="stanza"> Now tell me, you that are in love, From the king's son to the wood-dove, Which is the better, he or I? </div> <div class="stanza"> For this king means that I should die In this lone Pagan castle, where The flowers droop in the bad air On the September evening. </div> <div class="stanza"> Look, now I take mine ease and sing, Counting as but a little thing The foolish spite of a bad king. [Pg 150]</div> <div class="stanza"> For these vile things that hem me in, These Pagan beasts who live in sin, The sickly flowers pale and wan, The grim blue-bearded castellan, The stanchions half worn-out with rust, Whereto their banner vile they trust: Why, all these things I hold them just As dragons in a missal book, Wherein, whenever we may look, We see no horror, yea delight We have, the colours are so bright; Likewise we note the specks of white, And the great plates of burnish'd gold. </div> <div class="stanza"> Just so this Pagan castle old, And everything I can see there, Sick-pining in the marshland air, I note: I will go over now, Like one who paints with knitted brow, The flowers and all things one by one, From the snail on the wall to the setting sun. </div> <div class="stanza"> Four great walls, and a little one That leads down to the barbican, [Pg 151] Which walls with many spears they man, When news comes to the castellan Of Launcelot being in the land. </div> <div class="stanza"> And as I sit here, close at hand Four spikes of sad sick sunflowers stand; The castellan with a long wand Cuts down their leaves as he goes by, Ponderingly, with screw'd-up eye, And fingers twisted in his beard. Nay, was it a knight's shout I heard? I have a hope makes me afeard: It cannot be, but if some dream Just for a minute made me deem I saw among the flowers there My lady's face with long red hair, Pale, ivory-colour'd dear face come, As I was wont to see her some Fading September afternoon, And kiss me, saying nothing, soon To leave me by myself again; Could I get this by longing? vain! </div> <div class="stanza"> The castellan is gone: I see [Pg 152] On one broad yellow flower a bee Drunk with much honey. Christ! again, Some distant knight's voice brings me pain, I thought I had forgot to feel, I never heard the blissful steel These ten years past; year after year, Through all my hopeless sojourn here, No Christian pennon has been near. Laus Deo! the dragging wind draws on Over the marshes, battle won, Knights' shouts, and axes hammering; Yea, quicker now the dint and ring Of flying hoofs; ah, castellan, When they come back count man for man, Say whom you miss. </div> </div> The Pagans, from the battlements. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Mahound to aid! Why flee ye so like men dismay'd? </div> </div> The Pagans, from without. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Nay, haste! for here is Launcelot, Who follows quick upon us, hot And shouting with his men-at-arms. [Pg 153]</div> </div> Sir Guy. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Also the Pagans raise alarms, And ring the bells for fear; at last My prison walls will be well past. </div> </div> Sir Launcelot, from outside. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Ho! in the name of the Trinity, Let down the drawbridge quick to me, And open doors, that I may see Guy the good knight! </div> </div> The Pagans, from the battlements. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Nay, Launcelot, With mere big words ye win us not. </div> </div> Sir Launcelot. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> Bid Miles bring up la perriere, And archers clear the vile walls there. Bring back the notches to the ear, Shoot well together! God to aid! These miscreants will be well paid. </div> <div class="stanza"> Hurrah! all goes together; Miles Is good to win my lady's smiles For his good shooting: Launcelot! On knights apace! this game is hot! [Pg 154]</div> </div> Sir Guy sayeth afterwards. <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> I said, I go to meet her now, And saying so, I felt a blow From some clench'd hand across my brow, And fell down on the sunflowers Just as a hammering smote my ears; After which this I felt in sooth, My bare hands throttling without ruth The hairy-throated castellan; Then a grim fight with those that ran To slay me, while I shouted: God For the Lady Mary! deep I trod That evening in my own red blood; Nevertheless so stiff I stood, That when the knights burst the old wood Of the castle-doors, I was not dead. </div> <div class="stanza"> I kiss the Lady Mary's head, Her lips, and her hair golden red, Because to-day we have been wed. </div> </div></div> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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