In hope that happy life to win, And drawing nigher did behold
That these were bodies dead and cold Attired in full royal guise,
And wrought by art in such a wise That living they all seemed to be, Whose very eyes he well could see, That now beheld not foul or fair, Shining as though alive they were. And midmost of that company An ancient king that man could see, A mighty man, whose beard of grey A foot over his gold gown lay; And next beside him sat his queen Who in a flowery gown of green A golden mantle well was clad, And on her neck a collar had Too heavy for her dainty breast; Her loins by such a belt were prest That whoso in his treasury
Held that alone, a king might be. On either side of these, a lord Stood heedfully before the board,
And in their hands held bread and wine
For service; behind these did shine
The armour of the guards, and then
The well-attiréd serving-men,
The minstrels clad in raiment meet;
And over against the royal seat Was hung a lamp, although no flame Was burning there, but there was set Within its open golden fret
A huge carbuncle, red and bright; Wherefrom there shone forth such a light That great hall was as clear by it, As though by wax it had been lit, As some great church at Easter-tide.
Now set a little way aside, Six paces from the daïs stood An image made of brass and wood, In likeness of a full-armed knight Who pointed 'gainst the ruddy light A huge shaft ready in a bow.
Pondering how he could come to know What all these marvellous matters meant, About the hall the Scholar went,
Trembling, though nothing moved as yet; And for awhile did he forget
The longings that had brought him there In wondering at these marvels fair; And still for fear he doubted much One jewel of their robes to touch.
But as about the hall he passed He grew more used to them at last, And thought, "Swiftly the time goes by, And now no doubt the day draws nigh; Folk will be stirring: by my head A fool I am to fear the dead, Who have seen living things enow,
Whose very names no man can know, Whose shapes brave men might well affright More than the lion in the night
Wandering for food." Therewith he drew
Unto those royal corpses two,
That on dead brows still wore the crown; And midst the golden cups set down
The rugged wallet from his back,
Patched of strong leather, brown and black. Then, opening wide its mouth, took up From off the board, a golden cup The King's dead hand was laid upon, Whose unmoved eyes upon him shone And recked no more of that last shame
Than if he were the beggar lame, Who in old days was wont to wait For a dog's meal beside the gate.
Of which shame nought our man did reck, But laid his hand upon the neck
Of the slim Queen, and thence undid The jewelled collar, that straight slid Down her smooth bosom to the board. And when these matters he had stored Safe in his sack, with both their crowns, The jewelled parts of their rich gowns, Their shoes and belts, brooches and rings, And cleared the board of all rich things, He staggered with them down the hall. But as he went his eyes did fall Upon a wonderful green stone,
Upon the hall-floor laid alone:
He said, "Though thou art not so great To add by much unto the weight Of this my sack indeed, yet thou Certes, would make me rich enow, That verily with thee I might Wage one-half of the world to fight The other half of it, and I
The lord of all the world might die; I will not leave thee;" therewithal He knelt down mid most of the hall, Thinking it would come easily Into his hand; but when that he Gat hold of it, full fast it stack, So fuming, down he laid his sack, And with both hands pulled lustily, But as he strained, he cast his eye Back to the daïs; there he saw The bowman image 'gin to draw The mighty bowstring to his ear; So, shrieking out aloud for fear,
Of that rich stone he loosed his hold And catching up his bag of gold, Gat to his feet: but ere he stood The evil thing of brass and wood Up to his ear the notches drew; And clanging, forth the arrow flew, And midmost of the carbuncle
Clanging again, the forked barbs fell, And all was dark as pitch straightway.
So there until the judgment day Shall come and find his bones laid low, And raise them up for weal or woe, This man must bide: cast down he lay: While all his past life day by day In one short moment he could see Drawn out before him, while that he In terror by that fatal stone
Was laid, and scarcely dared to moan. But in a while his hope returned. And then, though nothing he discerned, He gat him up upon his feet,
And all about the walls he beat To find some token of the door, But never could he find it more; For by some dreadful sorcery All was sealed close as it might be, And midst the marvels of that hall This Scholar found the end of all.
But in the town on that same night, An hour before the dawn of light, Such storm upon the place there fell, That not the oldest man could tell Of such another: and thereby The image was burnt utterly,
Being stricken from the clouds above:
And folk deemed that same bolt did move The pavement where that wretched one Unto his foredoomed fate had gone, Because the plate was set again
Into its place, and the great rain Washed the earth down, and sorcery
Had hid the place where it did lie.
So soon the stones were set all straight, But yet the folk, afraid of fate,
Where once the man of cornel wood Through many a year of bad and good Had kept his place, set up alone Great Jove himself, cut in white stone, But thickly overlaid with gold.
"Which," saith my tale, "you may behold Unto this day, although indeed Some Lord or other, being in need, Took every ounce of gold away."
But now, this tale in some past day Being writ, I warrant all is gone, Both gold and weather-beaten stone.
THE INVINCIBLE ARMADA, 1588.
'Tis a fair eve at midsummer, three hundred years ago, Drake and his bold sea captains all are out on Plymouth Hoe; They are busy at bowls, brave gentlemen, with jovial mirth and jest,
When watching eyes spy far away a sail upon the West.
A sail! ten sail! a hundred sail! nay nigh two hundred strong! And up the sea they swiftly climb in battle order long;
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