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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 spirits 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 may'st 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 lips 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, suits but one?

RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY.

To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun Toll slowly.

And the oldest ringer said, “ Ours is music for the Dead When the rebecks are all done."

Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the north side in a

row

Toll slowly.

And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes Of the grassy graves below.

On the south side and the west a small river runs in

haste,

Toll slowly.

And, between the river flowing and the fair green trees a-growing,

Do the dead lie at their rest.

On the east I sat that day, up against a willow grey :

Toll slowly.

Through the rain of willow branches I could see the low

hill-ranges

And the river on its way.

There I sat beneath the tree, and the bell tolled so

lemnly,

Toll slowly.

While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the solemn noises,—

Yet death seemed more loud to me.

There I read this ancient Rhyme while the bell did all the time

Toll slowly.

And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin, Like a rhythmic fate sublime.

THE RHYME.

Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged, Toll slowly.

And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoary wood,

Like a full heart having prayed.

And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang

west,

Toll slowly.

And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years,

In the building of their nest.

Down the sun dropt large and red on the towers of Linteged,

Toll slowly.

Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light,

While the castle stood in shade.

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