"Give
smoother
answers, lying page,
Or perish in the lying!
Or perish in the lying!
Elizabeth Browning
"
XXXVIII.
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.
XXXIX.
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.
XL.
"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. "
XLI.
"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. "
XLII.
"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.
XLIII.
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.
XLIV.
_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, suits but _one_?
_THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY. _
FIRST PART.
I.
"Onora, Onora,"--her mother is calling,
She sits at the lattice and hears the dew falling
Drop after drop from the sycamores laden
With dew as with blossom, and calls home the maiden,
"Night cometh, Onora.
XXXVIII.
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.
XXXIX.
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.
XL.
"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. "
XLI.
"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. "
XLII.
"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.
XLIII.
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.
XLIV.
_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, suits but _one_?
_THE LAY OF THE BROWN ROSARY. _
FIRST PART.
I.
"Onora, Onora,"--her mother is calling,
She sits at the lattice and hears the dew falling
Drop after drop from the sycamores laden
With dew as with blossom, and calls home the maiden,
"Night cometh, Onora.
