Elizabeth Barrett Browning - The Romaunt Of The Page lyrics

A knight of gallant deeds
 And a young page at his side
From the holy war in Palestine
 Did slow and thoughtful ride
As each were a palmer and told for beads
 The dews of the eventide

"O young page, " said the knight
 "A noble page art thou!
Thou fearest not to steep in blood
 The curls upon thy brow
And once in the tent, and twice in the fight
 Didst ward me a mortal blow"

"O brave knight, " said the page
 "Or ere we hither came
We talked in tent, we talked in field
 Of the bloody battle-game
But here, below this greenwood bough
 I cannot speak the same

"Our troop is far behind
 The woodland calm is new
Our steeds, with slow grass-muffled hoofs
 Tread deep the shadows through
And, in my mind, some blessing kind
 Is dropping with the dew

"The woodland calm is pure
 I cannot choose but have
A thought from these, o' the beechen-trees
 Which in our England wave
And of the little finches fine
Which sang there while in Palestine
 The warrior-hilt we drave

"Methinks, a moment gone
 I heard my mother pray!
I heard, sir knight, the prayer for me
 Wherein she passed away
And I know the heavens are leaning down
 To hear what I shall say"

The page spake calm and high
 As of no mean degree
Perhaps he felt in nature's broad
 Full heart, his own was free:
And the knight looked up to his lifted eye
 Then answered smilingly

"Sir page, I pray your grace!
 Certes, I meant not so
To cross your pastoral mood, sir page
 With the crook of the battle-bow
But a knight may speak of a lady's face
I ween, in any mood or place
 If the grasses die or grow

"And this I meant to say
 My lady's face shall shine
As ladies' faces use, to greet
 My page from Palestine
Or, speak she fair or prank she gay
 She is no lady of mine

"And this I meant to fear
 Her bower may suit thee ill
For, sooth, in that same field and tent
 Thy talk was somewhat still:
And fitter thy hand for my knightly spear
 Than thy tongue for my lady's will!"

Slowly and thankfully
 The young page bowed his head
His large eyes seemed to muse a smile
 Until he blushed instead
And no lady in her bower, pardiè
 Could blush more sudden red:
"Sir Knight, thy lady's bower to me
 Is suited well, " he said

 Beati, beati, mortui!
 From the convent on the sea
 One mile off, or scarce so nigh
 Swells the dirge as clear and high
 As if that, over brake and lea
 Bodily the wind did carry
 The great altar of Saint Mary
 And the fifty tapers burning o'er it
 And the lady Abbess dead before it
 And the chanting nuns whom yesterweek
 Her voice did charge and bless
 Chanting steady, chanting meek
 Chanting with a solemn breath
 Because that they are thinking less
 Upon the dead than upon death
 Beati, beati, mortui!
 Now the vision in the sound
 Wheeleth on the wind around
 Now it sweepeth back, away
 The uplands will not let it stay
 To dark the western sun:
 Mortui! away at last
 Or ere the page's blush is past!
And the knight heard all
And the page heard none

   "A boon, thou noble knight
     If ever I servèd thee!
Though thou art a knight and I am a page
     Now grant a boon to me
And tell me sooth, if dark or bright
If little loved or loved aright
 Be the face of thy ladye"

Gloomily looked the knight
 "As a son thou hast servèd me
And would to none I had granted boon
 Except to only thee!
For haply then I should love aright
For then I should know if dark or bright
 Were the face of my ladye

"Yet it ill suit's my knightly tongue
 To grudge that granted boon
That heavy price from heart and life
 I paid in silence down
The hand that claimed it, cleared in fine
My father's fame: I swear by mine
 That price was nobly won!

"Earl Walter was a brave old earl
 He was my father's friend
And while I rode the lists at court
 And little guessed the end
My noble father in his shroud
Against a slanderer lying loud
 He rose up to defend

"Oh, calm below the marble grey
 My father's dust was strown!
Oh, meek above the marble grey
 His image prayed alone!
The slanderer lied: the wretch was brave
For, looking up the minster nave
He saw my father's knightly glaive
 Was changed from steel to stone

"Earl Walter's glaive was steel
 With a brave old hand to wear it
And dashed the lie back in the mouth
Which lied against the godly truth
 And against the knightly merit
The slanderer, 'neath the avenger's heel
Struck up the dagger in appeal
From stealthy lie to brutal force
And out upon the traitor's corse
 Was yielded the true spirit

"I would mine hand had fought that fight
 And justified my father!
I would mine heart had caught that wound
 And slept beside him rather!
I think it were a better thing
Than murdered friend and marriage-ring
 Forced on my life together

"Wail shook Earl Walter's house
 His true wife shed no tear
She lay upon her bed as mute
 As the earl did on his bier:
Till 'Ride, ride fast, ' she said at last
 'And bring the avengèd's son anear!
Ride fast, ride free, as a dart can flee
For white of blee with waiting for me
 Is the corse in the next chambère'

"I came, I knelt beside her bed
 Her calm was worse than strife:
'My husband, for thy father dear
Gave freely when thou wast not here
 His own and eke my life
A boon! Of that sweet child we make
An orphan for thy father's sake
 Make thou, for ours, a wife'

"I said, 'My steed neighs in the court
 My bark rocks on the brine
And the warrior's vow I am under now
 To free the pilgrim's shrine
But fetch the ring and fetch the priest
 And call that daughter of thine
And rule she wide from my castle on Nyde
 While I am in Palestine'

"In the dark chambère, if the bride was fair
 Ye wis, I could not see
But the steed thrice neighed, and
The priest fast prayed
 And wedded fast were we
Her mother smiled upon her bed
 As at it's side we knelt to wed
And the bride rose from her knee
And kissed the smile of her mother dead
 Or ever she kissed me

"My page, my page, what grieves thee so
 That the tears run down thy face?"
"Alas, alas! mine own sistèr
 Was in thy lady's case:
But she laid down the silks she wore
And followed him she wed before
Disguised as his true servitor
 To the very battle-place"

And wept the page, but laughed the knight
 A careless laugh laughed he:
"Well done it were for thy sistèr
 But not for my ladye!
My love, so please, you, shall requite
No woman, whether dark or bright
 Unwomaned if she be"

The page stopped weeping and smiled cold
 "Your wisdom may declare
That womanhood is proved the best
By golden brooch and glossy vest
 The mincing ladies wear
Yet is it proved, and was of old
Anear as well, I dare to hold
 By truth, or by despair"

He smiled no more, he wept no more
 But passionate he spake
"Oh, womanly she prayed in tent
 When none beside did wake!
Oh, womanly she paled in fight
 For one belovèd's sake!
And her little hand, defiled with blood
Her tender tears of womanhood
 Most woman-pure did make!"

"Well done it were for thy sistèr
 Thou tellest well her tale!
But for my lady, she shall pray
 I' the kirk of Nydesdale
Not dread for me but love for me
 Shall make my lady pale
No casque shall hide her woman's tear
It shall have room to trickle clear
 Behind her woman's veil"

"But what if she mistook thy mind
 And followed thee to strife
Then kneeling did entreat thy love
 As Paynims ask for life?"
"I would forgive, and evermore
Would love her as my servitor
 But little as my wife

"Look up there is a small bright cloud
 Alone amid the skies!
So high, so pure, and so apart
 A woman's honour lies"
The page looked up the cloud was sheen
A sadder cloud did rush, I ween
 Betwixt it and his eyes

Then dimly dropped his eyes away
 From welkin unto hill
Ha! who rides there? the page is 'ware
 Though the cry at his heart is still:
And the page seeth all and
The knight seeth none
Though banner and spear do fleck the sun
 And the Saracens ride at will

He speaketh calm, he speaketh low
 "Ride fast, my master, ride
Or ere within the broadening dark
 The narrow shadows hide"
"Yea, fast, my page, I will do so
 And keep thou at my side"

"Now nay, now nay, ride on thy way
 Thy faithful page precede
For I must loose on saddle-bow
My battle-casque that galls, I trow
 The shoulder of my steed
And I must pray, as I did vow
 For one in bitter need

"Ere night I shall be near to thee
 Now ride, my master, ride!
Ere night, as parted spirit's cleave
To mortals too beloved to leave
 I shall be at thy side"
The knight smiled free at the fantasy
 And adown the dell did ride

Had the knight looked up to the page's face
 No smile the word had won
Had the knight looked up to the page's face
 I ween he had never gone:
Had the knight looked back
To the page's geste
 I ween he had turned anon
For dread was the woe in the face so young
And wild was the silent geste that flung
Casque, sword to earth
As the boy down-sprung
 And stood alone, alone

 He clenched his hands as if to hold
His soul's great agony
 "Have I renounced my womanhood
For wifehood unto thee
And is this the last, last look of thine
 That ever I shall see?

"Yet God thee save, and mayst thou have
 A lady to thy mind
More woman-proud and half as true
 As one thou leav'st behind!
And God me take with Him to dwell
For Him I cannot love too well
 As I have loved my kind"

She looketh up, in earth's despair
 The hopeful heavens to seek
That little cloud still floateth there
 Whereof her loved did speak:
How bright the little cloud appears!
Her eyelids fall upon the tears
 And the tears down either cheek

The tramp of hoof, the flash of steel
 The Paynims round her coming!
The sound and sight have made her calm
 False page, but truthful woman
She stands amid them all unmoved:
A heart once broken by the loved
 Is strong to meet the foeman

"Ho, Christian page! art keeping sheep
 From pouring wine-cups resting?"
"I keep my master's noble name
 For warring, not for feasting
And if that here Sir Hubert were
My master brave, my master dear
 Ye would not stay the questing"

"Where is thy master, scornful page
 That we may slay or bind him?"
"Now search the lea and search the wood
 And see if ye can find him!
Nathless, as hath been often tried
Your Paynim heroes faster ride
 Before him than behind him"

"Give smoother answers, lying page
 Or perish in the lying!"
"I trow that if the warrior brand
Beside my foot, were in my hand
 'T were better at replying!"
They cursed her deep, they smote her low
They cleft her golden ringlets through
 The Loving is the Dying

She felt the scimitar gleam down
 And met it from beneath
With smile more bright in victory
 Than any sword from sheath
Which flashed across her lip serene
Most like the spirit-light between
 The darks of life and death

 Ingemisco, ingemisco!
From the convent on the sea
Now it sweepeth solemnly
As over wood and over lea
Bodily the wind did carry
The great altar of St mary
And the fifty tapers paling o'er it
And the Lady Abbess stark before it
And the weary nuns with hearts that faintly
Beat along their voices saintly
 Ingemisco, ingemisco!
Dirge for abbess laid in shroud
Sweepeth o'er the shroudless dead
Page or lady, as we said
With the dews upon her head
All as sad if not as loud
 Ingemisco, ingemisco!
Is ever a lament begun
By any mourner under sun
Which, ere it endeth, suit's but one?