| |
| “NOW since mine even is come at last,— | |
| For I have been the sport of steel, | |
| And hot life ebbeth from me fast, | |
| And I in saddle roll and reel,— | |
| Come bind me, bind me on my steed! | 5 |
| Of fingering leech I have no need!” | |
| The chaplain clasped his mailèd knee. | |
| “Nor need I more thy whine and thee! | |
| No time is left my sins to tell; | |
| But look ye bind me, bind me well!” | 10 |
| They bound him strong with leathern thong, | |
| For the ride to the lady should be long. | |
| |
| Day was dying; the poplars fled, | |
| Thin as ghosts, on a sky blood-red; | |
| Out of the sky the fierce hue fell, | 15 |
| And made the streams as the streams of hell. | |
| All his thoughts as a river flowed, | |
| Flowed aflame as fleet he rode, | |
| Onward flowed to her abode, | |
| Ceased at her feet, mirrored her face. | 20 |
| (Viewless Death apace, apace, | |
| Rode behind him in that race.) | |
| |
| “Face, mine own, mine alone, | |
| Trembling lips my lips have known, | |
| Birdlike stir of the dove-soft eyne | 25 |
| Under the kisses that make them mine! | |
| Only of thee, of thee, my need! | |
| Only to thee, to thee, I speed!” | |
| The Cross flashed by at the highway’s turn; | |
| In a beam of the moon the Face shone stern. | 30 |
| |
| Far behind had the fight’s din died; | |
| The shuddering stars in the welkin wide | |
| Crowded, crowded, to see him ride. | |
| The beating hearts of the stars aloof | |
| Kept time to the beat of the horse’s hoof. | 35 |
| “What is the throb that thrills so sweet? | |
| Heart of my lady, I feel it beat!” | |
| But his own strong pulse the fainter fell, | |
| Like the failing tongue of a hushing bell. | |
| The flank of the great-limbed steed was wet | 40 |
| Not alone with the started sweat. | |
| |
| Fast, and fast, and the thick black wood | |
| Arched its cowl like a black friar’s hood; | |
| Fast, and fast, and they plunged therein,— | |
| But the viewless rider rode to win. | 45 |
| |
| Out of the wood to the highway’s light | |
| Galloped the great-limbed steed in fright; | |
| The mail clashed cold, and the sad owl cried, | |
| And the weight of the dead oppressed his side. | |
| |
| Fast, and fast, by the road he knew; | 50 |
| And slow, and slow, the stars withdrew; | |
| And the waiting heaven turned weirdly blue, | |
| As a garment worn of a wizard grim. | |
| He neighed at the gate in the morning dim. | |
| |
| She heard no sound before her gate, | 55 |
| Though very quiet was her bower. | |
| All was as her hand had left it late: | |
| The needle slept on the broidered vine, | |
| Where the hammer and spikes of the passion-flower | |
| Her fashioning did wait. | 60 |
| |
| On the couch lay something fair, | |
| With steadfast lips and veilèd eyne; | |
| But the lady was not there. | |
| On the wings of shrift and prayer, | |
| Pure as winds that winnow snow, | 65 |
| Her soul had risen twelve hours ago. | |
| The burdened steed at the barred gate stood, | |
| No whit the nearer to his goal. | |
| Now God’s great grace assoil the soul | |
| That went out in the wood! | 70 |
| |
